School’s out, I’m writing like a madwoman, and blogging is the last thing on my mind, but this post has been simmering for a while. It’s time to serve it up before it completely evaporates.

Writing used to stress me out. I enjoyed it enough to keep going, but my type-A-eldest-child-perfectionist nature insisted on proofing as I wrote. One step forward, two steps back; two steps forward, ten steps back. It zapped the fun out of writing. I was planting seedlings and pruning them to death before they’d had time to mature. When I finally learned to enjoy watching the words grow, writing became a pleasure.

And then the coin flipped. Once the words were formed, it was finally time to whip out the red pruning shears. You’d think this is where that type-A-eldest-child-perfectionism would shine, but I found it wasn’t an easy switch to flip. Settling into the first groove had taken patience and practice, and shifting gears was a bit unnerving. I’d spent so much time crafting those sentences that it hurt to throw them out. The delete button is silent and swift and brutal. (Confession: I still like to tuck away sentences I can’t bear to delete. Does that make me a sentence-hoarder??)

Yet the best and strangest day of all was when I realized how much I loved both sides of that coin. Sure, I may have turned me into Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, but monsters are cool. Some days you have to write and write and write, some days you have to slash-and-burn, and every day you hope that from the rubble of your ridiculous writing something worthwhile might one day arise.

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