So I’m sitting here, staring at the page where I should be writing High Moon Rising: Wolves Within, and instead I’m just staring. I have tried to write today, and after weeks of outputting 1500 words a day, I’ve manged to write the sum total of 231 words. After reaching the 9000 word mark. I’ve managed to write… nothing of note.
I’ts not writers block, or a lack of ideas, I just can’t… focus. Everytime I sit down to write, my brain goes spiraling off in a million different directions, none of which are conducive to actually hitting my bloody word count.
And I absolutely hate it. Every single attempt to write over the last few days has ended the same damn way, and it just drives me even further into this area of frustration where I just can’t get anything done.
Ironically I find it much easier to write these feelings down than I do to say them. When I say them out loud, even if its just to myself, I just feel like I’m being petulant. When I write them down, they’re clear, like I can be objective about them. I can take them out, analyse them, look at them and try and decide what to do.
It feels like I’m being selfish. I’m living the dream – I’m publishing books, they’re (generally) being well received, so why the hell aren’t I happier about it?