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Writing is hard

Sometimes it's frustrating to be a writer. Not in a good way, where I'm wondering how to write the thing, make it work. That's the art, the thing I'm in it for. But selling it, finding the right market: that sucker punches me in the ego, all the time. I get all wrapped up in trying to produce the kind of content that x publishes, and it's nothing like the kind of stuff I write, so it's not going to work out, but I can't stop making myself think I ought to be "that writer."

I have a new blog. Having a container that forces me to keep posts on topic, and keeps the posts short, and a reason to write something each week, is all good for me. I like having some boundaries and limits, and those being something I can actually live with. If you want to see 500-900 words each Monday on the overlap among mafia history, Corleone, and genealogy, have I got the blog for you.

I'm happiest when I'm writing about something I know a lot more about than I'm going to actually say. I'm more comfortable with nonfiction. I'm also trying to build some kind of narrative arc into the blog. But I'm not stressing that too hard and just figure the themes will present themselves, and something organic will happen when it comes to making each blog make sense, standing alone, but even more so combined with A) the other posts and B) a knowledge and interest in famous mafia figures. Just like if you're writing about pop culture, you can rely upon your audience's familiarity with Beyonce, here I'm assuming most readers have at least heard of Dr. Navarra, but unlike the pop site, still giving enough clues to those who haven't.

I had a couple of pretty bad days this week, worked through them, and wrote something for the blog at the end. I am not entirely sure what the relationships are between my anxiety and depression getting triggered, and being able to write and actually produce something. I know I feel better when I work.

To some degree, my other blog is forcing me into a box that I want to break back out of. I think I have to solve some giant problem, answer a huge question, every time, and that's not what makes my writing special. That's just what brings the eyeballs, being able to anticipate the strings people type into Google. I want to write there again, but I devour myself, trying to write the giant "it" thing that no one has written yet, finally decide other people have done an adequate job, and give up. I started the mafia genealogy blog because it seemed like an overlooked segment, as well as someplace I have an intense interest. What do I feel that way about, that fits into the other blog? I don't seem to know, anymore, or else I talk myself out of it. Marketing requires self-consciousness, but too much of that kills creativity.

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