A mere ten days in to this 100 Days Project and I feel like I have run a marathon. I have gone from elation at the start of something new to feelings of uselessness, stubbornness, and ultimately insecurity. I will see this through. It’s one hundred words. Even I can manage that. What I am not certain of is what my mental state will look like by the end.
I need to start carrying my camera with me on walks again. Somehow I got out of the habit and my stash is getting low. I’ve never been a skilled photographer and am too lazy to learn. In spite of this, even the most dull picture of my dog can inspire a couple of sentences.
Not that there is such a thing as a dull photo of Shiva. I mean, really.
I’ve been reading about writing again, which is at once motivating and depressing. This article from the Atlantic encapsulates this for me. One writer will say how hard the craft is and then the next will tell me that I am a fool for thinking I could ever learn to be better. Writing prompts are a challenge. I am always disappointed with my results. It might be because I take them at their word instead of seeking my interpretation. Giving myself more space to experiment sounds like a solid concept in theory. It’s just too bad none of it is worth the time it took me to type.
This is what this project is all about, I can’t forget. 100 Days of slogging through in the hope of saying something worthwhile amidst all the rambled mash. It is to teach myself how to say what I mean, how to match the words on the page with the circling thoughts inside. It is possible at the end I will be no further ahead than I am now. This is the risk I take.