Hi, I’m Mari. I write, and I have a problem with finishing what I started.
Take this blog for instance. I’ve had the inkling to start one since last year, thinking maybe if I wrote enough in every possible way, I’d get better at this whole writing thing, and maybe doing so would “put myself out there,” so to speak (hah, as if I didn’t try enough by gushing to folks on Facebook…). I pondered on a name for months, finally came up with one in April, went with it until I set up my profile. Then a few of my short stories came out, I jumped with joy and thought: “Oh! Maybe I can put them in my blog with the links and it would be great and oh my gosh, excitement!” So I did.
But I still didn’t have any content in here. I thought to myself: “What could I possibly say? What’s interesting about my life besides my almost daily whining of my writing and my sometimes gaming/movie-watching/reading quips? Who wants to read about my inner mind theater other than aliens from a different star system who are gathering as much human data as possible?” Weeks later, the questions dragged on and the blog stayed empty, a skeleton that’s taking up space in the least possible way.
If that wasn’t bad enough, I notice my stories are no different. Between the unfinished and the finished, the former seems to be the norm, the latter an exception. There are beginnings–sometimes bad ones, sometimes really good ones, all of which come up on a thought process that I can barely explain. There are outlines to these stories, some with enough worldbuilding that surprises even myself. But there are so few ends.
So here’s a stigma that needs a remedy.
And I’ll start by pressing the “Publish Post.”
But first, hello, I’m Mari, I write, and I’m going to attempt to finish what I started.