Write? Oh. Right.

It sits on the table, motionless. A thick paper rectangle protected on the top, bottom and one edge by a heavier, shinier, type of paper. It’s not unique; others exist although perhaps in a different size, shape, color and/or odor. But they all have one brilliant attribute in common: they offer anyone who possesses the inclination to open it up, an escape from this moment. And the moments directly thereafter. The escape is perhaps an outer space adventure, a romantic tale, a bittersweet memoir, or a bloody thriller. Or maybe it’s something else entirely.

They look so innocent, these books. Standing in my library brings me a sense of relief; given the vast number of books on the shelves, I feel certain that having the ability to complete one is not limited to just a few people. Surely.

I’m one year into my Wall St departure and do not have a finished book. I do not have perfect writing skills. I do not have a lot of confidence as a writer. More importantly, though, I do not have a lot of time for the “do nots” in my life.

I’m grateful for the past year, despite those things I do not have. I’m grateful because the journey of the last year brought me to today, where I am now in possession of what I believe to be the most important writing skill. Here it is (and be warned, it seems ridiculously basic):

Write. Just get over yourself and all of the doubt and bullshit running on a constant soundtrack in your head, and write. Write. Write. Write! Embrace the crappy first draft as much as fantastic finished work!

I won’t go into detail about the twisty and sometimes frightening journey of the past year. I will say, though, that I embarked on my career change with a plan, which involved taking writing workshops and classes. The classes were helpful, as far as refreshing my awareness of the nuts and bolts of good fiction (vs. bad). But at the end of the day, I did very little actual writing.

My workshops and classes ultimately led me to one person, a writing teacher, who listened to me moan about not making writing progress despite the classes, blah blah blah. This person then calmly explained that perhaps if I write often, without judging myself, it would help. Huh? Judging myself? The next time I sat to write, I realized exactly how much judging took place. Crikey. Loads. So I tried writing without the judgement. Woah.

When applied, that advice is liberating. I’m so grateful to him, and am REALLY looking forward to learning more.

It’s such a simple concept, but not so obvious. I think of it like when you have a house full of guests for a party, and one cranky child needs ketchup – stat! You fling the fridge door open and look everywhere for the red bottle: under the lettuce, behind the milk, and – in desperation – even in the little egg container cubby. But no luck, the ketchup is gone or (insert name here) must have used it all and didn’t tell you! Just as you contemplate a search in the freezer, a friend comes up from behind and reaches around you to snag the ketchup from its position, front and center, on the middle shelf.

It’s a lesson in what happens when you allow the fear of being a bad writer prevent you from being a writer at all.

Today I write without worrying what anyone will think. Whether or not I’m writing the next great piece of literary fiction is irrelevant. I’m just happy to be a writer, who writes. Even if it's not perfect. Yet.