I like frogs

Here is a loose list of all the jobs I have had. It should indicate the sorts of things I am most proficient at:
Yardman, Machinist/Mechanic, Dockrat, Server, Cold Call Advertising Salesman (not proficient), Server, Writing Editor, Power Generation, Cement Worker (construction?), Farmer, Rancher (cows, pigs, chickens, horses. Not the geese. I hate geese.), Teacher (middle school - Holy Hell! Not proficient.), Professor, Store Manager.

In most casual conversation, this is what I say I am: Writer.

To be sure, I do have a writing degree. My writing prowess is what landed me my job as a professor and as a newspaper editor. And, of course, I am published in some teensy, barely noteworthy online and advertising mediums.
I mean, I can write. I can write well, especially academic crap.
But it isn't wholly honest to tell people I'm a writer, even if I honestly view myself as one.
I generally make my money and my career and my life with completely different things.

Maybe it would be honest to call myself a writer if I came home every day and worked on writing one of the many bland, used, abused, been-there-done-that stories that I have swimming around in my mind.
Sometimes I do. Sometimes I sit down and say, "Now Martyr, you are going to do what you say you do and write. Write frikkin' magical realism or whatever the smurf you talk about and don't quit until you have at least 10 totally deletable pages worth of words splayed about before you on a WORD file!
Then I get excited and I try to create a story or bust out an old manuscript of something I have worked on at brief intervals over the past 5 years, and I make an attempt to write. And inevitably, a point always comes where I can't stand it anymore. I loathe my characters. I see holes in my plot that I don't know how to fill. I get bored and feel like I should be writing something different. I end up rewriting the first 15 pages over and over again from countless different angles, utterly insatiable.

And I realize that I can't write a story. I can write anything. I can improve anything that isn't mind. I can work another person's pos writing into masterpieces (that's what they pay me for). When I was in college, I finished stories because I had a deadline. But when I am on my own, I am helpless to continue anything.
At this point, I don't think it's about trying to make sure a piece is as good as possible. I feel like it's a willpower issue, but I don't know what it is that I'm trying to overcome with my will. I'm writing. I'm ready. I want to put stuff onto paper. The writing is good. The stories probably aren't bad - the few people I share them with seem to like them. But I hate them all.

I try to make a little blog to warm up my brain. Sometimes I do it on a blog site. Currently, I enjoy them here because I know somebody or another may kinda/sorta read it. I often write gibberish for about 8 minutes by hand before I try to touch a computer keyboard and create something. There's all this ritual. All this effort to generate motivation. All this fear and anger and self depreciation.

I tell people I love writing because I love the feel of a pen in my hand and the tic tac of the keys under my fingertips. I love it when a sentence comes together perfectly, when I strike a metaphor that cuts to the point like a razor (razors were initially designed to cut to points. People have since used them to cut other things to get to different locations). But when all is said and done, there is a part of me that detests it.
The writing is work, yes. That is acceptable. I have always viewed writing as more of a job than a game, and I believe that is appropriate if I want to make my writing into something that is to be presented to others. However, the work shouldn't be this hard.
If this is my passion, why am I not obsessed with it enough to actually do it, complete it, love it and make it my life? Why do I work until exhaustion managing people, fixing cars, chasing cows and sleep well when-
Well maybe I have an identity crisis.

Anyway, I'm working on a character design right now. It's been 3 drafts over 2 months, but I think I figured out the fix. I think she has to be a female. I will have to rewrite tons of character interaction and alter the direction of the story some, maybe even some of the other characters, but I think it will add life to the plot. And sexual tension.
But when I finish this, will it feel like I am forcing the scene by plugging in a woman instead of a man or will the woman fit better in the scenario, realistically and truthfully? I don't know. But I'll tell you something, I kinda wish there were more genders to work with.