I had a revelation the other day - January the first, in fact, which is a Very Good Day for revelations.
For too many months, now, I've struggled to find drive and motivation in my writing. Why, really, did I need to write? My job was more fun than I expected it to be, and although it's often hard work, it is, really, quite cushy: great students, great colleagues, great hours, decent pay. Not a single person I know would fault me if I decided I wanted to walk away from writing and throw my energies into teaching.
Ultimately, no one cares if I write or not. Not really. And writing is hard, and all kinds of scary in ways that non-writers will never comprehend.
But here's the revelation:
If no one cares whether I write or not, then no one cares if I write badly. If no one cares, then I am free to write the worst verbal suckage in existence, even in 'edits', as long as I am having fun.
And that, my friends, is insanely, delightfully, liberatingly, uncomplicatedly good.