I started writing last year. Short stories mostly, but I also started a novel. I’m sure this sounds familiar to a lot of folks, and pretty much of a “pipe dream” activity. I mean, really — shouldn’t I be doing something more worthwhile?? More sensible??

Thus said the voices in my head … and were echoed softly by various family members. I stayed with it and by August I had two short stories accepted for publication. (You can see one online at http://www.anderbo.com). The satisfaction and joy in this endeavor has been immense. So, what’s the problem?

Well, sometime around Thanksgiving I just stopped. Boom. Nada. I sit down at the computer and log on to various websites, check my email, play a few rounds of Spider solitaire and then get interrupted by someone and go off on another track. I look back now and its six weeks ago since I wrote down the ideas and stories and scenes that are swirling around my head.

Know what else has been happening? Yep – insomnia, edgy days of almost panic, generalized anxiety, and a sense of hopelessness. Hmm. Correlation? Ya think?

I’m not big on New Year’s resolutions to improve myself, I try to do that anyway. Living with Anxiety and Panic has been amazing for my health: I exercise regularly, eat vegetarian, meditate and do deep breathing exercises daily. I have good relationships that are mostly happy and very fulfilling. I am constantly learning things, reading books, and I have a wonderful life. This “writing thing” was a gift. I think of it as a gift that the Universe gave to me last year. And so I’m thinking of making a New Year’s resolution to get back to it!

I don’t think I’ve wrecked it, but I certainly haven’t treated this gift with the respect and care that it deserves. And who suffers from this? Me! I’m not talking about blame here, just personal awareness. This is a part of my path. This creativity and success is something that requires me to act, act responsibly and to act consistently. I like that about being grown up. That I act this way. I do it on behalf of others all the time. Now I get the opportunity to do it on behalf of myself. To have the ability to express myself creatively, and have it be recieved with such enthusiasm is also a responsibility. I’m thinking its akin to taking care of my body so that I don’t suffer so much. It becomes a joy rather than an obligation.

So, I’m writing here. And I’m writing in Word, too. And while I’m writing the stories, I’m righting myself. And it feels good. It feels right.

Thanks for allowing me to pun shamelessly!

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