I’m in that all to familiar place in “my writing” where time and doubt have stopped all words. I quote “my writing” because I question if I can say “I write” if I indeed do not. I cannot remember my last post, nor do I want to. I haven’t touched a novel I wrote in months, and it has multiple beta-reader’s notes and feedback. Actually… I haven’t even opened their envelopes which contain my manuscripts littered in their notes.
I just stopped writing.
I am searching my mind for the spark of creativity and energy to start again. I know the sage advice from the writing world mouth pieces. Just write! It doesn’t matter if it is good, just write. Write everyday. It will come back.
Do I want it to?
I am questioning the drive behind why I write, and I think that questioning is the road block in my progress -lack thereof rather.
I used to say I wrote because I loved it.
Then I wrote because I still needed an artistic outlet and I was tired of drawing.
Then I wrote because someone… somewhere… needed to hear a story they could relate to, so they knew they were not alone.
Then I wrote a novel for a niche market to help people and yet I have zero drive to finish the last edit or two… though it is written.
I couldn’t even finish my Letters to My Daughter series with only 3 letters in the alphabet left to write.
What the hell is wrong with me?
I know this post is self-indulgent and no one likes going to pity parties… but
today right now I am writing. So, there is that.
For those struggling to write, or those in the heat of splashing passionate words onto computer screens…
Why do you write?
How do you start after you have lost the drive?
How do you start after you have ceased to believe any further?
Why do you continue if you do not know of your impact on others with certainty?