Bloody Fangs

While on sabbatical, I’m learning more and more about writing and myself. The latest realisation is this:


When faced with lots of time, I don’t get more done. What happens is I beat myself up for not writing eight bajillion words a day, and therefore live in a constant state of guilt, panic and anxiety (sounds fun, doesn’t it). So, right now I’m thinking of all the things I want to do (exercise, other forms of art, volunteering etc) and slowly building them into my day. I want to practise committing to other activities, and then fitting my writing in around them. Basically, my Muse shrivels up if I shove it under my full beam of focus. My Muse prefers to skulk in the shadows and work when I’m not properly looking. 

My Muse is a vampire. This is what I’ve learned. 

In general, I’m feeling okay, but there is this voice at the back of my head that’s always whispering you’ve broken yourself bravo all is lost. I have, essentially, become a meme.