…well, not exactly.
I’m highly distracted, by television and twitter and facebook and all of those things I should know how to turn off by now. I used to prefer quiet to noisebox.
Now I’ve acquired a way to carry around a host of distractions in my hand, it’s only grown worse. I used to sneer at people who never put down their cell phones; and now I am one. Productivity, naturally, has taken a nosedive.
The more I learn about writing, the more critical I become of my own. And, when I feel discouraged, I can almost always find something to do that does not feel like an uphill struggle.
Nanowrimo left me behind. It depresses me that I don’t have the raw output (or the great idea, or even a rough plot) required to put into a novel-length work.
I edit while I’m writing; which is a really bad bad BAD habit.
I throw away ideas for being too trivial, or too difficult, or too big, or too small. My favorite haunts are part of the problem; a drabble is too small to contain “real” characters or “real” plots, yet I have no “markets,” no place to contribute longer fiction. So there’s another excuse to not write it at all.
And I’m drowning in unwritten ideas, yet cannot finish a story in time to match prompt [X] before deadline [Y].
Prompts aren’t helping, in my current state.
In short, I have ten thousand excuses to not write. Taking it way more seriously that necessary.
Psychoanalysis time! Doc, help me out of this Flop Sweat funk.
ParkInkSpot 