...and carry a notebook and pen with me every where. Lately I’ve been starting pieces in my head and not writing them down. By the time I get to a place where I can, they’re gone lost in the haze of everyday life. Not good.
It was chance I saw it; I was facing sideways. But it made me smile.
It may seem pollyanna, or like it concentrates on the positive without the recognition that life can be hard – everything from brutal and tragic to an accretion of little knocks and dings that eventually weigh you down so much you can’t function – and without the recognition that there are malicious people out there who will try to destablize you just for their own amusement but the reality is that it is because of these things that having the ability to find that one grain of happiness, no matter how small, is absolutely vital.
Even if the only thing you can write about a given day is that at least it is over and tomorrow is a chance to start fresh doing this goal is worth it. I’m going do this again and again until finding that one thing truly becomes a habit.
Given that I was supposed to have worked 184.5 hours this month (plus August 1) and I’d already clocked over 200 by noon today, it felt like someone had lifted a building off my chest.
I’m barely doing my morning pages every day, and when I do them they are filled with a litany of work-related complaints – how will I get it all done? don’t they understand I’m only one person? how many hours do they expect me to work in a week? when do I get some vacation – which does not and should not count as writing.
Haven’t updated my blog in over a week and I’m barren for ideas. Am afraid to work on incorporating my novel edits into a new draft; what happens when I get to a place that requires actual creativity in the rewriting rather than simply fixing typos? I’ve got nothing left.
