I’m dusty. After my #aprildaily burst, when I posted a ten-minute write every day during the month of April, I fell off the writing wagon. I’ve been lying on the side of the road ever since.
This week, I creaked and groaned to a standing position. I brushed the dirt off my composition book and started scratching words on the crusty pages. Since I started writing again, I’ve been fascinated by how noticeable my lack of practice is. My word choices are vague, I don’t pull thoughts together coherently, I read what I’ve written and think, “Wow, that’s pretty bad.”
But where I previously strived for perfection — I wouldn’t post anything to my blog unless I had proofed and polished and gotten every last word, every last punctuation mark, as close to perfect as my skills would allow — perfection is not my goal anymore. Progress is.
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