I’m slowly finding a writing groove. My Muse has finally let up her death hold on my creativity (she has been protesting for several weeks about being second best to my job) and very slowly scenes from “The Gift” are once again taking shape.
I want to argue that my job is my biggest roadblock where meeting my writing goals is concerned, but it isn’t strictly true. Yes, my job and my Muse have a tense relationship (hell, I have a tense relationship with my job) but I think it is time for some self-responsibility. I am the biggest roadblock between where I am and where I want to be in my writing. Some days, I’m having none of it. Unfortunately in the last two months I had more of those days than I wished to have. The days when I didn’t want to write and I loathed my desire to create. On those days I would wish I felt comfortable with just being a bookworm. I once stumbled across a quote where the author (jokingly) berates a friend for taking two years to write a novel when one could’ve been bought in five minutes. I definitely related to that feeling a lot over the past couple weeks. I’ve thought, “Look, Rilys… there are so many books out there in the world. Why are you putting in so much effort to add to the list?
I now recognize those thoughts as a way to feel comfortable in my laziness and to justify not sitting my ass down and getting those words out.
Over the last week I’ve had several persons ask me about progress on my second book. It has shamed me to tell them that it has been progressing very slowly.
If I had been completely honest, I would’ve explained that it has not been going at all. I took a long, unnecessary hiatus from working on ‘The Gift’ for the past couple weeks. It started with my laptop being felled by an 8 oz glass of Ginger Ale and me losing all of my words. However, my laptop resurrected itself after two weeks (in a greater plot twist than the story of Lazarus) and I found that all my documents were in tact. Still I managed to not add more that six hundred words to my word count since then.
I’ve decided today that something has to give. There are some things in life I cannot control: what people think about me, the weather, the price of coffee, my sushi addiction or how many glasses of Prosecco I can have before getting drunk. But I can, without a doubt, control how many words I put towards my books. Staying up a bit later, saying no to events, spending less time trolling through Instagram at 4:00 AM (there I admit it) are arguably the smallest prices to pay for fulfilling this dream. The thing is, my writing is a lot more than just a dream. It is my soul. I cannot remember a time when I didn’t know I wanted to be an author. It is time for me to put my time and effort where my dreams are. I’ve been asking myself for the past couple hours as I contemplate this: so what do I when I just can’t be bothered? What do I do when I just am not having any of it? The answer to that must be; keep going, keep trudging, keep pushing – win.