It’s a new day and I’m feeling…pish.
Here are my thoughts thus far (it is 10.07).
- I have no energy to write
- I don’t want to write
- I have no ideas
- I can’t be a writer
- This will never work
- (goes to Starbucks and opens project) Is this coffee actually decaf? (confirms with barista)
- (reads yesterday’s work) This stuff is absolute garbage; I’m going to write out of order, writing a scene only when it’s epic
- (reads old newsletters from Susan Dennard) I love Susan Dennard
- (plays MS’s soundtrack; writes down fuzzy vision of what I want this book to be) I don’t have enough mystery for this book and the romance isn’t strong
- I never had a flash of inspiration for this book; it all grew out of discovery-writing
- Do I really want to write this book?
- When was the last time I had a good idea for a book? Oh, THE NIGHT MAGE FFS.
- (mentally searches through old half-finished manuscripts) I don’t want to write any of these books either
- I have no ideas I am broken do I even want to be a writer and is it relevant because it’s clear I cannot write and yeah I have no ideas
- (reads through old blog posts about how I’ve been quitting too easily and have been driven mad by perfectionism and pressure to produce) Ohh….
- Okay maybe I’ve been quitting too easily
- Maybe this book is the best I’ve got so far
- Maybe this book seems difficult because I have much higher standards these days and I want this book to be utterly gripping and jammed with mystery and damn that stuff is hard to write and I simply have a lot of work to do to get this book to where I want it to be and this story is the most complex book I’ve ever attempted to write
- I promised myself I had to finish this book because it’s been so long since I finished one and if I don’t relearn how to complete a book my fledgling career is over before it ever got going
- Okay gonna work on my book
It’s a new dawn, a new day, and I’m gonna write this bloody book even if it kills me. Even if it turns out so terrible it never sees the light of day, this is about me proving to myself that I can still write a novel. I’m not broken. I can’t believe that.
I am not broken.