Hello friends and welcome back to your regularly scheduled edition of WIP Wednesday, where I vent my spleen about my current writing project.
And currently I am, to put it colorfully, fucking miserable.
More specifically, I’m feeling really creatively frustrated. I’m caught between the knowledge that if I start drafting before I’ve satisfied my worldbuilding needs that I’ll end up shelving the project prematurely, and the fact that my creative well as far as brainstorming and worldbuilding is as dry as the Saraha.
I want to be writing. I’m sick of talking about writing. I’m damned tired of staring at all my notes and knowing there are holes to be filled but coming up with bupkis to smooth them over. I want to be writing. Which is a really weird feeling because normally drafting is my least favorite part, and outlining is something I excel at.
Which in turn has me doubting that firstly, this project is what I’m meant to be working on right now, and secondly – what if I’m just not meant to be a writer. What if I really am just one of those people who talk about writing and never actually write!!!!!?????
These aren’t new thoughts or doubts. I’ve talked about them ad nauseam on this blog.
AND I’M FUCKING SICK OF IT.
Oh my god, I cannot tell you how sick of it I am. I can’t tell you how much I hate that I spend more time talking about writing than I do actually writing. (And yes, I see the irony in me spending another afternoon blogging about it.) I can’t stand that I’ve wasted so much time carefully crafting outlines for projects that I don’t finish anyway, and I hate that pantsing my last idea also ended in abject failure.
I’m tired of being aspiring. I’m sick of my dreams being the closest I’ve ever been to being a “real writer.” And I’m fucking of the cycle of telling myself I’ll do better, only to end up precisely at this exact same spot: tired of being tired.
So screw it. I’m gonna write words today, regardless of whether or not I’m ready. And if I get 20,000 words in like I did last time and peter out, fine. Fine. Because, then at least I would have done something. Anything is better than this limbo I’m stuck in.
We’ll see if this attitude holds up. That’s the beauty of my mental illness, I can never tell if a feeling is real or if it’s just my anxiety and depression teaming up to make me doubt everything I’ve ever done.
Until next time, friends! May your writing be plenty and your struggles be few.
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