What would a Monday be without a little funk to go with it?? I’ve noticed these funks come and go in waves. Every so often, I feel depressed and discouraged that things (and these could be any number of “things”, right now they’re professional things) aren’t going as I’d hoped they’d go. I hate feeling this way. I have no small number of wonderful blessings in my life right and things are going better than I could really hope to ask for. So why the discontent?

I have ideas. Things I’d like to do. But there’s always something to stop me, to stiffle my creativity. This has happened to me many times before. And most times, it’s my own darned self that’s doing the stiffling.

Growing up, since I was in the second grade, I’ve wanted to be a writer. I used to write stories all the time and have my friends read them. I always assumed I would be a writer when I was older, probably a romance writer. Even though I wasn’t that big a fan of romance writing, I thought that it would be the best market for me. Then I started to consider more general women’s fiction. Where romance wasn’t the main focus of the story but still was a vital story ingredient. That seemed more my speed.

So why am I not penning the latest and greatest novel right this very minute? Stiffled. I took many a fiction writing workshop in college and through all that, I started feel more and more stiffled. By myself, by what I thought expectations would be. I didn’t see myself as near good enough to be considered an author. Maybe someday. Not now.

I still suffer from this. I’m a blogger, but I’m not a *great* blogger. And despite wanting to become a great blogger (sometimes), I don’t feel I can. I’m not popular enough. I don’t write well enough. Often enough. I’m not that charismatic. I drive people away. No one would want to seek me out to see what I’m writing.

The realization of this is what depresses me today. I want more. I can do more. But I’m stiffled. By myself.