I should be writing a novel…
It’s what I kept telling people (telling myself) I would be doing this weekend. I wrote about 85% of Untrue Tales Book 3 last Labor Day weekend before getting interrupted. This weekend my mind never seemed to calm down out of the ‘interrupted’ state to get started… except on the literal verge of sleep, Friday night, I wrote for a couple of hours and got less than a thousand words and didn’t want to go on, was too tired to go on, something, somewhat, but nothing came out. And it’s early yet, a full weekend’s worth of weekend left before I have to go back to work. All day today, all night tonight, all day tomorrow, even tomorrow night, if I want it… well, sortof. I only have a very few modafinil left, not really enough for a novel-weekend, but I could probably stretch things with caffeine if I was motivated.
Or even just disciplined.
I need to learn to be more disciplined, to write on a set schedule without fail, to paint/draw/sculpt on a set schedule without fail, to be consistent and invest the time and effort required to succeed. Yes, I am well aware that success is whatever you decide it is. I’ve decided, and really it hasn’t changed much over the years since I decided it, that for me success is in creating. Money would be nice, but I’ve got to create something in order to sell it, and I’ve got to create something good in order to satisfy myself. I’ve got to keep working.
But I’m so stressed out.
