I’ve been feeling a little flat lately. Writing wise. It seems the motivation and exuberance that I had not long ago, has departed. It’s not that I’m without ideas, inspiration or a list of things to write that’s as long as my arm. It’s just that I’m lacking motivation to sit down and put pen to paper or fingers to keys.
I’ve never felt like this before and to be honest it’s a little worrying. Perhaps, it’s a lack of publishing process, no competitions won and no journals accepting my work. It could also be that I haven’t really been that consistent with doing any of the above. Maybe. Most probably.
I think I write fairly well. There’s always room for improvement, lots and lots of improvement, but I like my stories and I love my characters. So, I think that’s a good start. Last night I was feeling very melancholy about the whole thing, down in the dumps and negative. I mean what’s the point of this whole writing saga if I’m not enjoying every second of it? So why bother. I suppose this is like saying that I feel fat, but refuse to eat well and do any exercise. Cause and effect, right?
After sitting and staring at a wall, didn’t work. (I can’t believe it didn’t!) I pulled out a story that I’m particularly proud of and I read it, and before I knew it, I was smiling. I was laughing and crying – all in the right spots. The story gave me a pick-me-up and reminded me why I was spending all of my free time researching, writing and editing. That story wouldn’t exist if I didn’t take the time to write it, a story that I wanted to read.
It also doesn’t help that I’m incredibly inpatient, and that I need everything done NOW. I’m learning to go with the flow a little more, embrace my inner artist and stop worrying and getting blue about things I have no control over.
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