Apparently, last post when I said that I didn’t want to talk about writing, I meant that I didn’t want to right then, but that I would be back in under twenty four hours to
complaintalk about it more.
Like right about now, for instance.
May has been pitiful for me, writing-wise. I haven’t added it up because I haven’t cared enough (this may be a Theme), but I would be shocked to learn that I’ve written 5,000 words of fiction this month. That is less than 2-3 hours of writing time.
And I call myself a writer.
I still have every intention of finishing that book (you know, the one that I’ve barely started…three times now), especially if it requires absolutely no effort on my part. Unfortunately, I don’t think that pages of story are going to appear to me while I sleep (unless I learn to sleep-type, which could be both fun and dangerous). It will require effort.
And I think that’s what is holding me back.
Now, some of this break has been justifiable. I have been insanely busy, and have been dealing with some things outside of that whole work and social life thing (the latter of which mostly means weekend trips for me). But there is a point at which a reason can become on excuse, and I think I may have crossed it.
So this is where I promise grand changes and huge output, right? (I’ve never been good at half-assing, even slacking off, so it might fit).
While I won’t promise grand, sweeping changes, this is something that I want to prioritize over the next few weeks. My life has become rather up in the air, so I’m trying to do the smart thing and rearrange it as it falls. This is one of those things, one of the few things, that I think deserves focus.
It isn’t about whether or not I’m good at it. It isn’t about whether or not others will read my stories, or if I can ever make money doing this. It’s all about me having stories in my head and not enough room for them, so I have to get them out.
Plus, writing is how I approach the world. It’s how I make sense of things. Neglecting that seems pretty stupid, don’t you think?