Tonight, instead of jumping into my new wip, I'm blogging. With my daughter staying with her grandparents this evening, I should have come straight home and thrown myself into work. Instead, I'm surfing the net, browsing my new RWR and putting off facing the blank page. I don't know why I do this. Once I get started, I can go for hours without stopping. Its just that getting started thing that I have trouble with.
I did no work this weekend. I was a lazy slug. Two days with no reason to leave the house, and I neither read nor wrote. It's frustrating that I waste so much valuable time, but I can't bring myself to sit down and work. Maybe that's my problem. I use the term work. I put in 40 hours a week at work. Then I come home and do housework. Then I think about writing in terms of work (and frankly, if I intend to have this as a career, that's exactly the way I should approach it). There's a little kid inside me screaming when do I get to play? And a cloud hanging over my head from which a voice booms: if you're not writing you're never going to submit anything and you won't be published.
Is it any wonder I have a hard time putting fingers to the keys.
There's a fear of failure tied up in it too. If I don't finish the book, I can't send it out, and they can't send it back. Oh, I know all that good advice about pulling myself up by the bootstraps and striding forward, etc. And I remind myself of that often. And really, I'm not afraid of rejection. But, it's like the dentist. The longer I can avoid it, the better.
I feel better now that I've whined and vented. Thanks for listening. You've been a great help.
Today's goals: Get started
Yesterday's accomplishments: Gathering energy to begin again
What I'm grateful for: The lack of a deadline, except for what I've imposed upon myself
