Discredit Your Inner Idiot

Self - Talk to the Hand

Discredit Your Inner Idiot. Go on you know you wanna! I’m fixinta do it right now. (In case you haven’t noticed I’m experimenting with made up words today.)

It’s rainy day, so my decision to leave the house will just have to wait. Instead I’ve decided to find a pair of pliers and a hammer to go to work on my inner critic.

Inner Idiot: Why start a blog? You know you never finish anything?

Real Me: Shaddup! Been blogging for almost a year now. The only thing I’ve done this consistently in my life is travel and drink beer. OK, I also read Sci Fi and tend to scare myself to death reading Steven King books when I’m home alone.

Inner Idiot: Sooo you want to be a writer. Who do you think you are?

Real Me: Uh…me? Been writing all my life, just didn’t share it that often. Actually I’m a published writer. A story I wrote got published in a national magazine for kids when I was in the 5th grade. God, I wish I could remember what the name was. Also wrote stories for the school newspaper in high school. There has just been a brief 40 year dry spell. Now that I think of it, during the corporate years, I wrote entire books. They were non-fiction. Scintillating subjects like – User Manuals, Standard Operating Procedures, Employee policy, history of a company, successful proposals to fund projects, business plans, etc. Not edge of your chair, nail-biting, stay up all night kind of stuff, but hey! I AM a writer. So bite me!

Inner Idiot: Oh come on! Every time you fire up your Kindle you are confronted with pictures of fossilized great writers from days of yore. What makes you think you can stand on the shoulders of greatness?

Real Me: Seriously? Can’t those Kindle people put a picture in there of a person is has not been in the ground for 50 years? Why do you have to be dead to be considered creative? And further more, I’ll bet cash money that I’m every bit as weird as Mary Shelley (author of Frankenstein), just in different kinda way.

Inner Idiot: *Sigh, and rolls eyes* Everyone wants to be a writer. It’s an easy way to explain inactivity, if all you do is stay up late at night and stare at paper.

Real Me: Well…No, actually not everyone wants to be a writer. Percentage wise, not that many do. Come to think of it, I’ve never met anyone, in person, who wants to do this. And I’ve met a lot of people.

Inner Idiot: Well, maybe I’m beating a dead horse here.

Real me: Yea, you are. I shall sashay forth and do my thang. Nice talking to you, don’t let the door hit you in the ass on the way out.

_____________________________

NaNoWriMo update: Fell a little behind the last day or 2, but I was ahead already so I have plenty of wiggle room.

5 responses

  1. Keep fighting that Inner Idiot, young lady!

  2. Absolutely this. I’ve had to give my Inner Idiot a few swift kicks in the teeth before she realized that I was going to write, and neither she nor Ms. Critic were going to be able to do a damn thing about it.

    1. Cool! I’ve been tempted to get one of those nerf foam bats to hit myself with when she won’t be quiet.

  3. Love this! Sounds like a diaglog I might have with my own inner-idiot. Let’s proclaim this a National Day of Inner Idiot Discreditting. I can rally for that cause!
    Kathy

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