Writer's block or lack of talent?

Why is it that, despite a burning desire to write something - a short story, novel, something - I can't ever manage to do it. I start - and stop. I think about it almost constantly, writing little paragraphs in my mind, creating characters, developing scenes, but I never seem to actually get them down on paper - or in my case, onto the hard drive. What is wrong with me? Do real authors struggle like this? Even my blog becomes a source of frustration at times. I don't want to post just random thoughts like so many bloggers do, treating the blog more like a diary than something into which you put at least some thought. Knowing it may/will be read by someone with an education, someone who will spot grammatical errors, misspellings, typos, pushes me to at least attempt to put something of value into my blog. I am not always successful, but I do try. It would be fairly easy to just journal - recap my days, my frustrations, pour out my thoughts - but I want this blog to be something more than a journal. I would like it to be entertaining, informative, interesting to read, insightful, and a host of other adjectives. For example, I really enjoy reading Nathan's blog. Part of the enjoyment is derived from the fact that he's my son's roommate at college and I get a different perspective on what is going on in their lives via Nathan, but part of the enjoyment comes from the fact that he is a very talented writer. His writing is fun to read, even when he's simply relating the events of the week. I was blown away by his initial entry in the NaNoWriMo contest. He hasn't added to it, due to college demands, I'm sure, but what he did post was really well done! I kept asking myself if I am capable of that kind of writing. I'm not sure I am. I do well when it comes to expository writing. I do okay in the poetry department. Yet the thing I long to do, write creatively, is the area in which I feel the weakest. Perhaps I'm being overly self-critical. I suppose that's better than being overly impressed with myself, but maybe not. Perhaps my self-criticism paralyzes me and keeps me from achieving my goal. More likely, it's fear of failure, criticism, and rejection that keeps me from pursuing my dream. Who wants to finally take the chance, pour their energy into creating something, only to find out they are as terrible as they've suspected? I think that is my problem.

I used to think I was smart - and talented. But lately I've begun to suspect I'm just pretty good at a lot of things, just not amazingly good at any one thing. I'm pretty good in math, I'm pretty good with computers, I'm a pretty good photographer, I'm a pretty good writer, I'm a pretty good cook, but I'm not great at anything. I am the epitome of the "Jack of all trades, master of none". I get that from my dad.

Growing up, Dad was always changing jobs. Not because he lost them, he just got bored and found something that interested him more. As a result, we moved every year from first grade through 7th grade. As a kid, I didn't care. It was fun - new city, new house, new school. I have this gregarious nature so making new friends was exciting to me. It became so normal to move that, when we finally settled down in one spot, it was weird. I remember my parents frequently discussing moving somewhere new. I'd get excited, start imagining my life in the new location (once, that location was Australia!), only to have them decide to stay put. How boring. This went on for five years, until my parents divorced and Dad did move again - to Oregon. My mom stayed in the same house for another five years until she died. Dad kept up his rambling ways for another 7 years, moving to various places in Oregon before finally settling in Montana. He has actually lived in the same house for 26 years now. He must have outgrown the wanderlust. After my mom died, I took up where Dad left off. I moved from Southern California to the Bay Area for a year, then to Texas (ugh) for 7 months, then to Colorado for 3 years, and finally to Idaho. I must have grown up - or something - along the way. I have lived in the same home for 20 years and the same town for 22 years!

But back to my "mediocrity". Not only did Dad have a penchant for changing jobs, his hobbies were even more varied and ever-changing. The surprising thing was, he was darned good at everything he did. He has always been an avid hunter and seemed to always fill his tags for as long as I can remember. He's quite a marksman. He taught all four of us kids to shoot at a very young age. I still love target shooting. He is a competitve trapshooter. I remember when it was a big deal when he got 25 in a row, then 50 in a row, then 100. Pretty soon, he pretty much never missed. He'd bring home turkeys and hams that he'd won in competitions. He was the guy to beat. We kids were his reloading slaves. One bedroom was turned into a reloading room and we took turns loading his shells for him for what seemed like hours. It was probably only an hour or two a week, but it seemed like a full-time job.

Then he got into CB radio. This was back before every Tom, Dick and Harry was a CB'er. He had all the latest equipment, high power amplifiers, huge antennas, stuff that let him talk to guys all over the world. We'd listen every night to him talking to people in Germany, Australia, the other side of the US. It was so cool - and so illegal. CB radio is supposed to have a very limited broadcast radius. Using more powerful amps and high gain antennas was against FCC rules. So, all the guys in the CB "club" would talk like mad (much the way we all IM nowadays) until word got out that "Uncle Charlie" was in town. That was the code word for the FCC. Suddenly, the airwaves would "go dark". No one would broadcast for fear Uncle Charlie would find their signal, pay them a visit, and sieze their equipment. Uncle Charlie would leave town and the chatting would resume. The part about his CB hobby I liked the best were the "rabbit hunts". All the guys in the "club" would pack their families into their station wagons at night and meet at some predetermined location. Of course, these station wagons were equipped with CB radios with high-powered amps. One family would be selected as the "rabbit". They would then drive off to hide somewhere in town. There was no limit as to how far they could go to hide, but the amount of time before the "hunters" came looking for them imposed some limitations. Once the rabbit was hidden, he would radio the gang that he was ready. From that point on he had to broadcast non-stop until he was found by the hunters. The hunters drove around using range finder antennas to home in on the signal from the rabbit. The rabbit would often hide behind a metal building that would bounce their signal around, making it harder to locate them. They also tried to find a spot that gave them a clear view of anyone coming toward them so they could escape before being spotted. That was legal - as the rabbit, you could move if you saw a hunter coming before he spotted you. I remember sitting in the car as the rabbit, Dad broadcasting away, seeing a car coming toward us and Dad saying "oh, I may have been found. Blink your lights, blink your lights." I can just imagine "hunters" all over the area blinking their headlights. Of course, the car coming toward us was blinking its lights like mad but Dad would say "oh, no, false alarm, just a passing car" trying to throw the hunter off the scent. It usually worked, and as soon as it was safe, we'd zoom off to a different hiding place. As the hunter, I remember Dad driving and holding the antenna out the window, turning it from side to side as I watched the signal strength indicator. I'd shout "yeah, that way, that way! No, no, it's weaker now. Okay, yeah, that way!" These hunts went on for hours and were one of most fun things we did as a family.

Another hobby of Dad's was scuba diving. He'd go diving and bring back tons of abalone and other "treasure". After that, he got his pilot's license and competed in various flying competitions like dropping a bag of flour onto a target below or doing some stunt stuff. Then he raced sports cars. He started off autocrossing his Jaguar XKE and usually won his events. Then he got an Austin Healy Sprite and raced that in production class races at various tracks in Southern California. He was an excellent driver! Had he had more money for a car and maintenance on it, he could probably have made a living racing cars eventually. It was an expensive hobby and he had to eventually give it up. He became a cop after he moved to Oregon and his driving skills improved even more. He even went to Bob Bondurant's driving school in California at one point.

Dad also took up photography and one of his photos was turned into a postcard by some big company. He became a hair stylist when I was in 6th grade and won tons of awards at hair shows for his styles. He worked for Vidal Sassoon way back when. He took a long hiatus from doing hair, became a cop, then returned to hair styling about 15 years ago, eventually opening a shop not far from my home. He retired a few months ago and now spends his time on the computer, or loading shells for his antelope hunting exploits (he spends tons of time loading for optimum trajectory and such), or concocting his amazing barbecue sauce that he sells in the area, or planting and harvesting his garden, or welding some crazy invention in his shop, or reading up on the latest gizmo that he's purchased, or reading the latest Tom Clancy novel. He's still a jack-of-all-trades, still interested in everything under the sun and willing to attempt almost anything. Growing up, I'd be having a conversation with friends about something and I'd interject "my dad does that" or "yeah, my dad won a trophy in that". After a few of these conversations they'd look at me and say "yeah, right, your dad does everything. You are such a liar!" They found it hard to believe one person could have accomplished all the things my dad had, and can you blame them?

So, I come by my eclectic interests honestly. I sometimes wonder if Dad is ADD and maybe that accounts for his "scattered" interests. Maybe I am too, to some degree. Then again, maybe we're just people who are keenly interested in everything around us and just can't find a way to pack everything we want to do and learn about into one lifetime, so we try do as much as we can, even though that may mean never being the best at anything, but being pretty good at what we do do. Who knows? I do know that my siblings share my frustrations to some degree. My brother is very much like I am. My two sisters are a little less so, but they too share the curse of having widely varied interests. Obviously it's genetic. Maybe we're a perfect composite of our mom and dad, two very different, very intelligent individuals who were very good at a lot of things, not necessarily outstanding at just one thing. I know my mom was a very frustrated writer and artist. Dad has the whole techno-geek thing going on and is excellent at math. I think I have half of each of their brains and they compete for dominance, making me a very frustrated person much of the time.

So, that's my excuse for not being a successful author yet. It is an excuse, I know. I just need to focus long enough, work hard enough on one thing, and I could write that book that's churning inside me. Maybe when I retire.... :)