Hello friends and welcome to another wobbly week of writing.
Lately I’ve been struggling with indecision. Writing has, admittedly, been on the back burner while I adjust to my new workload and day job expectations. Though every night I climb into bed and brainstorm or fantasize about the shape my story will take, I have yet to find the energy to put those ideas into motion the following day.
In the void actually-writing has left, the creeping doubt has set in: the one where I question whether my lack of ambition to actually-write even when I am tired is because this simply isn’t the right project for the moment. Sometimes, when I crawl into bed, ideas about the last WIP I shelved (Daughters of Necessity, the one I tried to pants only to trip over for want of planning) surface. In those moments I find myself wondering if my muse is trying to tell me something.
And over the weekend, facing yet another Monday with nothing accomplished to show for the week before, I realized that, yes, my muse is telling me something. It just might not be the message it thinks it’s telling me.
I can play this game forever, if I want to. The back and forth, the indecision, the constant state of planning a novel. It certainly has appeal: all the magic of feeling creative without the cold hard reality of doing the labor and the stories remain ideal and perfect while they remain in the safety of my own mind.
But I don’t want to live in limbo. Which means at some point, I need to really commit to just one idea and see it through to the end.
Commitment: that’s my motivation this week.
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