Motivation, where art thou?
So, I fell off the writing wagon so hard, I think I left a dent.
I spent the first half of 2019 KILLIN' it. I was working out, losing weight, writing/editing my ass off and generally being a bad ass.
And then...the interruptions began. Visits from friends and family, family vacation, work changes, illness, etc, etc. The rejections for my first finished novel rolled in, zapping my confidence. No matter how I press on, it does take a toll. The doubt creeps up, poking holes in all your dreams until you're left with a tattered piece of plastic.
I've written 497 words in the last month. Pathetic. Every evening I plan out the morning's scene, go to bed determined to get it done in the morning.
Alarm goes off...five more minutes...and then I've hit the snooze button 13 times and its rush to get ready for work.
I don't know where I'm going wrong. I'm excited about the project I'm working on (in theory working on) and I have the scenes in my head. I just can't get in front of the computer.
Its like a form of stage fright.
Man. I have got to shake this thing.
I've found a community of writers on social media, I'm taking the classes, I'm querying for Guardian, so WHY in the name of anything holy can't I write a damn second book?
Tomorrow I'm writing 1,000 words.
Tomorrow. I am writing 1,000 words.