Just so you know, I didn’t intend to let the silence go on so long again. I had an entry written, all ready to go, about how I was finally getting myself back into the habit of writing daily. I wasn’t up to anything like a respectable output yet, but I was writing again, and I was really pleased with how my current story was progressing. And I was all ready to post it.
Two weeks ago.
Then everything went to hell.
Today was the first time I managed to write anything since January 16. It wasn’t procrastination, or slacking off, or any of my usual excuses. It just wasn’t possible. Time and circumstances, and stress, and….
In short, January sucked. By the time I had more than two minutes to sit down and think about writing again, I had to dig myself out from under a pile of email and general chores. Until this morning, I was seriously considering writing this week off, too, and starting fresh in February. Pretend, as far as the whole writing thing goes, that January just didn’t happen.
But unlike those occasions when my lack of output has been related to something internal—procrastination, or writer’s block, or just sheer stubbornness—I was getting really twitchy about my story. I wanted to sit down and get something (anything) on the page. I’m used to feeling guilt about not writing. I’m not used to that sort of wrongness.
I suppose that’s a good thing. I’m still focussed on my goals for this year, maybe even with a little more determination. I’m going to need some time to rebuild my habits, work back toward my old levels of output (that was what I was intending to use January for), but I think things are going to go well.
I just need to harness this energy, figure out how to maintain it.
