No more Bullshit.

No more bullshit - I tell my brain.  No more bullshit - I tell my brain who tries at every corner to remind me I must be worthless for not doing what ever creative thing it is I want to be doing at what ever time of the day.  No more bullshit - I tell that deep down nerve that is vulnerable to failure.

No more excuses.

I never cared my writing skillz were young and generic.  I completed my schoolwork with decent grades, and could take art rather than creative writing - so I was set.  When confining in others about my emotions, people seemed to get what I was saying, so what's the problem?  My penmanship is fine (by the way I totally used to practice writing with both my right AND left hand in case I got in a fist fight and was laid up - HA!) but transferring the dots and dashes of grey matter to paper, people you're looking at a child.

I first met Travis at Spaceland, waiting for a show of someone I didn't know.  This handsome fellow would go on to challenge my person to be a better me.  He stirred up questions I had never asked myself or cared to know.  He encourages every creative venture, especially the silly ones.  Additionally, I finally met a person who opened my eyes to a world of words.  He is an amazing dictionary of English, Shakespearean, and musical expressions, peppered with jokes and puns.  He can illustrate the whirlwind of his noodle with a few simple words and one day I realized - I'm jealous, but in the most loving way.

No more bullshit.

Without realizing it, our weekly podcast opened the dark and scary corridor of creativity.  I was now responsible for answering the simplest of questions, such as "What do you want to talk about?" and "What is your point of view on said topic?"  When not asked, I have the best answers.  When posed, start the headlight game please.  But I learned (still learning too) how to hot-wire my neural pathways so getting to these answers were easier.  Travis unknowingly gave me the tools to be that better me I discovered I wanted.

No more bullshit.

I have been ping-ponging the idea of public journalling for months. I asked people what they use in the hopes that would motivate me.  I would post on social media - hey i'm gonna do this thing.  I even put my home journals on my desk, including the pen, hoping I would simply write.  I constantly felt like a lady who buys a wedding dress knowing it's too small, in the hopes that will be the last bit of motivation to workout.  Travis had suggested for years I type my thoughts, that way it's changeable and more instant.  But no matter what technique I tried, I became increasingly frustrated at myself.  Frustrated at this thing that intimidated me. Inspired (and also jealous) by others who had the ability and the drive to put themselves there.

No more bullshit.  right.

There are journals, written by boys, which I truly, truly enjoy.  But three lady friends who write became the you CAN fucking do this jolt I needed.  Each gives a varied style, view, and education for me.  Anne's very recent dive into the pool (annewheaton.com) happened to be the most beautiful final motivational straw I needed.  In an out of character move, I was inspired by her work instead of going another round with my personal criticizing opponent.  It's eloquent and effortless, and I thank you for that Anne.  Mary (thetelevixen.wordpress.com) often talks about femininity and horror.  The femininity of the world is not my usual teacup, so I appreciate the different perspectives it adds to my half tom-boy world.  Finally my other friend Anne (itsfunnyinthedark.com), who I've known since we were 14, is a fisherman's wife in Oregon.  But before that, she would read the cool-kids books and talk about being a writer.  If it were the 60s, she would have been a beatnik.

And for these reasons, I am finally excited for words.