Over the years I have somehow gotten in the habit of suppressing my writer's instinct - the drive to write these stories. They live in my head were I muse over them - sometimes for hours, sometimes for years. They never make it to the stage of digital record. Part of it has been my changing lifestyle. I'm a 40-hour-a-week corporate worker now, a full-fledged adult with a house to take care of, and spirits willing, a child soon as well. My body seeks habit, my mind, routine. Part of it is also my ongoing perfectionist tendencies, which lead to procrastination.
But last night, I took a short-cut around my normal hesitation, and just went with it. I expanded the story as I wrote it, decided on narration style, made stylistic choices. And it was fun, again, to right. I want this to be the habit, not the exception. I want to loosen my fear of my writing not being 'good', because it is preventing me from becoming better - I need to practice or else I will lose it.
This morning is another example. Something in my mind says that I don't have time to write something before work. Lies. I don't have time to invest in a chapter of a novel, or a coherent and mind-bending short story. But capturing a slice of my brain like this? Of course I have the time. Don't suppress these instincts. Write. Write whatever, and maybe in 45 days, it will feel like it did in college - a necessity on par with breathing.