Another month has come and I must say, my writing muse has been a rather illusive creature to corner.  I have no excuses, I've had a few pretty lame distractions, and I still don't really feel like writing, but I know it's something I need.

The other month I went on a road trip with my mom (was actually the first week of April).  When I was younger I filled volumes of journals with notes on stories - my late teens and early 20s in particular were just nonstop with ideas - most of them lame, some of them pretty amazing.  Those times were really my happiest, producing something I felt good about.

I could spend this journal talking about the things that have gotten me down, but I don't want to.  Sometimes I think I spend too much time looking at my mistakes, worrying too much about whether I've done something wrong.  Doing that hasn't gotten me anywhere I want to be, so I'm done.

I was actually musing about Doubt the other week.  Back in High School I told a friend "Never doubt yourself, that's the path to self destruction."  I had forgotten I said that to her, but she reminded me of it and it has served her rather well.

Returning to that thought made me really think about doubt, how uncertainty can make us wonder whether inaction is preferable to making a wrong choice.  I've come to realize that inaction itself is a wrong choice.

Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pith and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action.

Felt the need to borrow from Shakespeare on this one.  You get my point.  It's nice to think about things, but you can't just sit around all day - this is especially pointed at myself.

So time to start moving.  I'm not perfect.  I'm going to mess up.  But here I go...