A small struggle

One, two, three…
Nine, Ten and a young me surface from the bathtub I held my breath for ten seconds, proud of my achievement I immediately think I should tell my brother or mother but what if I can do it for twelve so I dive back down and start the count, one two three four…
Every day I try and add a second or two, sure sometimes my longs where tired and I could only hold my breath for eight seconds but I saw how I improved almost daily struggled for a while at thirty seconds but I could feel my comfort with holding my breath growing. Then thoughts of doing even better like maybe thirty-five seconds will be impressive enough to show my older brother.

Progression is such a satisfying feeling, I can remember when I started running more often I had my path and it was amazing to improve on my times this took 15 min now 14 or whatever, it was a great feeling, even push-ups 10, 20, and so on it was as if I tapped into a hidden potential within myself and I could be better, and then more on a superficial level I could have some bragging rights and back it up.

Oh you hold your breath for forty seconds look at me I am at fifty-two, look at me bro I can do thirty push-ups, he would say that’s good, affirmation from my brother that was as if I just won a trophy, you know you worked for this and now you have improved a bit at a time, and often days may come, when ten push-ups feel like the most you can do it is okay because you know you have done thirty, countless of times before.
Progression could be a bit of addiction always trying to improve and yet it is also a motivator a whisper that says keep going see what you did.

Now my small struggle, writing how do you measure it and I know its wrong to seek affirmation from others, yet often it does feel good when you can show your brother look I can do a minute by now.
How do you do that with writing?
It is hard to explain that finishing a page or even just an idea you had for your story to someone because it still is incomplete, I can not show the pages I have written and say that is a half marathon, writing a book only you can see the progression within your mind and that is a beautiful exhilaration when you know you just did one of your best writing sessions it was hard but you did it, but I can not say a page is equal to x amount of kilometres in running only you will know how far you have come.

Writing feels like an isolated process only you will know how far you are with a book idea or concept or the struggle of creating a reason why a character should be there at that time yet when overcoming the struggles and you got it exactly right. {A} should be there because she had to pick up the children. After all, daddy spilt coffee on his boss, being in a rush to pick up the kids and now because of fear he wants to stay longer at work just to play it off cool so he called his wife {A} to go pick up the kids. VICTORY I have her where I wanted her. now to go tell my brother, mother or friend, you can tell them but yet they might not have a reference to what that meant most people know the physical struggle of holding breath or pushups whatever but trying to explain the struggle of your story is a hard sell and the reaction will be less than seeing someone doing seventy pushups, while the writing equivalent might have been three hundred pushups they just won’t have the reference.

That is my small little struggle when it comes to writing.
It is a solitary act and honestly, we don’t know what it coasts someone to hold their breath from fifteen seconds to forty-five we just know its long, and seeking that approval is of no use. my solution is don’t limit your work to a book, write a poem or two write a blog the more you write the better and to a small degree, you do get that instant gratification which I believe is not the worst as long as you do not live for it.
Now you dive!!

one, two…
Nine, ten. Write, my friend, now try to twelve…

That is my Monday rant thank you again for reading.
you all are amazing people to take the time to read my blog.
Thank you Peace and Love.

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