I want to talk about bananas.

Kidding. The wife came up with a really interesting subject to discuss–

Progress. Struggling for the last week has caused me to look back at previous works, which is also just something I do once in a while to rediscover perspective. While the blog makes it super easy to look at stuff from two months ago, the college written stuff from six to seven years is either buried deep in my computer or sprawled in a footlocker I imagine holds my hopes and dreams.

When read the stuff I wrote long ago, obviously, there is a sense of accomplishment. The difference between my writing then and writing now is something I can find pride in. Comparing old writing with today’s, I don’t know why I still struggle to accept that I’ve improved.

There has been progress. I have progressed. Whether I believe in it, or myself, is another subject, but it should be fairly obvious when I read a piece from college and immediately think, wow, I can improve this so much!

That’s one of the reasons why I started this blog. Some of my poems have been rough things from the past, and I hope to one day rework a bunch of my short stories to post them.

Just that shows progress. I want to improve those pieces. And I know I can. So, why do I sometimes think I’ve become stagnant? I honestly don’t know. The blog helps of course. I feel more confident with every post because I can sense my ability refining. Better word choices come to mind, better ideas, better diction, better sentence structure–I know I can work on these. I can improve and move forward and experiment to create rich stories or poetry.

The buzzing of doubt is always there. But so is my desire to improve whenever I get the chance. As a writer, I’m my harshest critic. That doesn’t mean I can’t progress in my writing abilities. Every piece is an improvement. Every sentence helps me.

I am progressing. Maybe not as fast as I hoped, but it’s still happening even if I struggle to accept it.

Progress. I need to move forward. Every story helps progress. Good or bad, it’s helping.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to write a story about sentient wormholes with a sense of humor.