Being prolific forces you to take notice. Taking notice develops your taste.

Knowing the consequences I want, what choice would create them? What big choice would nudge a hundred others that way?

Focus on what fascinates you, even if it’s uncharacteristic.
There is no purpose because there is no line connecting moments in time.
There is no plot.
You are not a story.

Do you actually want to write? Ok. Then write. In a text file on your computer, in a pastebin, on a blogging platform, on neocities, on cohost or mastodon, on a copy-pasted template from github pages, in /var/www, on some forum that nobody’s looked at in 15 years. It really does not matter. Go write.
But, perhaps you don’t really want to write. Do you like tinkering with site generator tools? Then fucking tinker to your heart’s content. You don’t need to have an end goal where you actually put some thinkpiece or technical writeup on the website. Building it can be its own reward.
If you love it, let it consume you. If you hate every moment you spend with it, why are you trying to do it? Real winners quit.

When perpetual avoidance is allowed, this familiarity never develops, and the kryptonite effect entrenches itself. The activity in question, however innocuous to everyone else, seems to wither your power and confidence whenever you get too close. Only by getting close despite the effect, and experiencing what dancing, algebra, or working with puff pastry is all about — rather than simply reacting to your old, scorned-outsider’s thoughts about it — can you neutralize the effect.