Imaginary Interviewer/Inner Critic: So...why haven't you been writing blog posts about writing lately?
Me: Because I haven't been doing any writing. In months.
II/IC: And why is that, pray tell?
Me: Because I can't get started. Because I'm too excited about school starting. Because there are all these books to read and movies to watch. Because I'm afraid I'll screw up whatever I try. Because it never feels like I have the time to set down in stone for writing, even though I fritter away hours every day (a few wee chunks at a time).
II/IC: So it's not a matter of having no ideas.
Me: Are you kidding? I have ideas coming out of my ears. I have two big ideas and one small idea and new commitment to the wikibook and that resolution to revise Highbinder and etc. Ideas are by no means the problem.
II/IC: Are you worried about other parts of your life becoming too sloppy if you get involved in one or all of these projects?
Me: No. Matt will pick up the slack if need be. He can see that I'm struggling and that I want to write very badly, and he keeps making suggestions about when and how to make it happen.
II/IC: You have ideas, and you have time, and you have the encouragement of your spouse. I'm not seeing a good explanation here.
Me: Yeah. Tell me about it.
Even my subconscious is muscling in on this problem. I had the same kind of dream four nights in a row this week; the content is inappropriate, but let's just say that I know what my brain is telling me to do. The small idea I mentioned above was more or less dropped in a neatly wrapped package in my lap on Tuesday morning by the dream I had. A scream from the tangle of my subconscious: WRITE THIS, STUPID. I can't believe it'll take me more than two hours to do up a draft of it.
It might be this afternoon, actually. I have a couple of empty hours and access to a nice quiet library. Wish me luck in not finding other things to do instead.