I've been taking too many days off from writing lately. I have a number of reasons, most of them involving my sinuses at the moment, but I still have work to do, and the deadline isn't just looming; it's damn well standing in front of me, making obscene gestures and sticking out its tongue mockingly.
Being unmotivated is a tough nut to crack. By all means, I shouldn't be unmotivated, but I have this funny feeling it has a lot to do with feeling overwhelmed by life in general. If I didn't have to maintain a 7am - 4pm day job, as if I could afford such an extravagant career change, I'd have nothing but time to write, create, be that typing, tapping, literary artist I've always dreamed of being.
Not going to happen, friends. No chance in hell, I don't think.
See, I've got plenty of ideas swimming around in my head. I had a great (albeit, short) session of brainstorming the other day. It's the implementation of the ideas, it's the getting down to business part, making them work, defining the rough edges that have yet to fit in with the rest of the puzzle.
No one said it would be easy, this freelance thing. And I can't say it's particularly difficult most times, especially when the words are flowing like blood from an artery, and the time seems to flash past in a blur. I can look back at words I wrote, I can recognize that they're good words, too, can see my writing style in them, but, sometimes, I have no memory of writing them. That's what it's like when it's easy.
I wonder sometimes if I'm cut out for it. Self doubt? Yeah, I suppose. I've already proven a dozen times over that I am cut out for it. Hell, what more do I need to do to prove it? There are plenty of people who believe in me. It's too bad I'm not one of them.
Enough jibber jabber. Time to make good on my promises. Knock on wood.