When I was younger, I suffered from debilitating perfectionistic tendencies, especially when it came to creativity.

All this made being a poet and writer, to be quite frank, hellish at times.

I’ve ditched projects. I’ve abandoned blogs, had bouts of despair over not winning NaNoWriMo.

Last year I wrote 35K for NaNo. More words than I’d written over the year before.

And I felt like I’d failed.

It took me months to get where I am now: so happy with the progress.

And that is just ridiculous. Why does everything have to be so perfect?

Why can’t I make a mess of everything? The best creative moments stem from chaos.

So I’m going to be proud of myself. I’m going to be happy with my writing progress. No matter what.

I’m excited to see what effect that has on my writing and on my life.

Perfectionism, begone. Failure? You don’t exist.

Only creating does.