Too Many Choices

As I stub out the same cigarette I've been smoking for the last half hour, my head filled with dreams and plans until after one am and here it is not even 7 and I'm up already, I realize that my problem is that I have too many choices.

Ok, yeah, that's something to bitch about, huh? Most people don't have many choices about what they want to do everyday, many people have none, so I'm blessed, right? Wrong! I have so much shit spinning around in my head that I can't make a decision about where to start. I have put this writing thing off for so long now, my first excuse being the death of my son, well, that's a pretty damn good one, you have to admit, but it's been eight frigging years, ladies!

It's Monday morning, and I spent the weekend researching and making a nice list of poetry chapbook publishers and also found a couple of young adult publishers, making big plans about getting both of mine published. So what am I doing this morning, now that I have these great lists? I want to write a short story!

It's fear I guess, beginning again. Eight years ago, when I wrote my young adult novel, I was totally consumed by it, so much in fact that even before my son died I had lost my husband due to my obsession with writing and didn't even know it. I think that's part of the hesitation, but the deal is, I have nothing to lose now. I have rid myself of the three year distraction of a bad relationship, have a nice place, bills are paid, money is not a big issue, the closest thing I have to a relationship is the cat rubbing against my bare legs, good health, food in the fridge, and still, here I am, waffling about what to write, or procrastinating about reaching out to these publishers, or finding things I 'need' to take care of besides writing. Maybe I don't think I deserve success, hell I don't know. I am tired of analyzing, for the danger in that is that I can convince myself of just about anything and make it totally valid. I'm flaky, ok, I'm flighty, I change my mind like I change my underwear.

In the wee hours of morning, or wee for me anyway, I decided to hold off on contacting publishers and get up this morning and write a short story. I have so many stories to tell! My life reads like American Horror Story, or a juicy romance novel at times. But here I am, sitting at the computer, bitching to you on this blog about having too many choices. Which story should I tell first? Am I really a writer, or just a wanna be? Can I just put the shit down and quit worrying about whether some literary journal is going to accept it, or how much they pay?

My whole life I have been a business woman and I can't seem to get rid of that accountant in my head. I want to just write for the pure pleasure, for release, to tell stories I know people would want to read. Dammit all to hell, I get frustrated like this and then I find something totally different to do, like selling stuff on Ebay.