At the moment I have 225 notes in my “Blog – DRAFTS” notebook in Evernote. At least half of them will never see the light of day.

 I read some of my shitty first drafts and wince. Like, Eeegads, if I die and somebody reads this flakey crap shizzle EVERYTHING I’ve ever done with some value will go DOWN.

 Sometimes I reward myself with Pinterest time. “Danielle, finish this post and you can go pin stuff on your Desire: Union board.” I think self-reward systems are kind of pathetic.

 Every time I go to my Blog-DRAFTS notebook in Evernote, I hope that mystical brainiac blog elves will have proactively finished a few good posts for me. I don’t care if that would be ghost-writerly and deceptive, I secretly wish for it.

With 3 out of 10 articles I write, I just hit SAVE and vow to never read it again because I think it could be lame (and by lame I mean: not that useful), but I leave room for the possibility that someone might like it more than I do. And, if it’s around midnight, I just need to hit SAVE and get to bed.

I think that at least half of what I write could be made better. But I keep going. Because I have a lot to say. And it feels good to say it.

Deja-vu plagues me. Didn’t I write this exact post last year? But I keep going. Because I have a lot to say. And it feels good to say it.

I fear running out of #Truthbombs.

I don’t feel guilty about how easy writing is for me. I used to worry about how immodest that sounded, so I downplayed the easy part. But mostly, it pours out of me.

Words flow easily for me because A) I’m deeply devoted to being useful. B) I know what my point is before I write. C) I’ve trained myself to not care too much about what people think about what I think.

The above statement isn’t entirely true — I care what people think. Sometimes.

I’m shy about my poems. But I keep going. Because I have a lot to say. And it feels good to say it.

Of course, I aim for perfection, but I don’t let the odd, inevitable typo tear down my point.

It pains me that some of my best writing evaporates so quickly into the digital ethers. That’s why I love printed books. Touchable. (There are more coming!)

I listen to music constantly while I write. I create playlists while I’m writing. (There are more coming!)

I’m not a journaler. I write to be helpful, and if my stuff didn’t get read, I wouldn’t be writing for the pure joy of it. That said…

Crafting just the right sentence, or building a truly beautiful paragraph — it’s almost erotically satisfying for me. I love it and I want to do it for the rest of my life.