I've become a cliche

I believe I was about 8-years-old when the onerous certainty of growing up sank in. Not that childhood filled me with blissful contentment. No quite the opposite, but I couldn’t make my mind on what I wanted to do with my life, and I was badly stuck on the first step: achieving confidence.

However, I did have an early aversion to clichés. Therefore, I knew I didn’t want to become an emotionally unstable, anxiety-prone, psych-medicated, poet and fiction writer. Yet, that’s exactly where I’ve arrived. I’m on so many psych medications now that if I took a leak in the Mississippi, fish would float to the surface all the way down to New Orleans.

Fiction has been hard to write recently. I’ve got everything down except the plotting. Poetry has been just the opposite: a breeze, a piece a cake, a walk in the part. No matter what aphorism you choose, my writers’ group has been praising my poetry. I don’t scoff at my peer’s compliments either. Yet, I only wrote poems as a last resort.  My fiction is stalled, and I didn’t want to show up empty-handed.

Of course, I’m going to be submitting them, starting tomorrow with a subscription to DuoTrope.