A Writer's Notebook, Day One-Thousand-And-Twenty-One

I have gotten back into the habit of writing in the morning again, and am writing around ten poems most days, at the moment.  As usual, I will have to say that most of these are not anything great, and they all need some degree or another of editing, but I am still glad to be back in a more productive mode.  At least, I am mostly pleased to be writing more again, but I do have a small part of me that watches the amount of work I have pile up and considers my failure to get anything in print in so long.  There is something that feels unhealthy about having so much work, having it building up like a dragon's horde, and I must admit, as well, a feeling that I putting all this energy in with nothing to show for it.  It feels like courting failure, in some sense.  At the same time, I have no real choice.  In a literal sense, I could choose to stop, I know, and I am not doing well handling my current situation, if I am honest, but to not be writing, to be defeated by this failure, that would be worse.  Either of those two outcomes scares me in a way that is very deep.  I don't know how to continue as things are, and I do not know any alternative that is not equally self-destructive.  I am writing, though, and I am mostly glad for that.  That is not enough, though.

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