The cold mistress who beats you with a wet, muddy rag, who demands your words but refuses to help you find them. She of the thesaurus and writers guides and copy editing ilk.
She’s really mean.
And that’s who I’m blaming for not writing right now. I was writing, before I started on the fun that is pneumonia road once again. But I think I’ve lost my zest for the story. I’m not feeling it, and if I as the writer am not feeling it, how will the reader feel anything?
I don’t know. I know several writers who are struggling to write as the world goes through this transition phase. But I know others who are burying themselves in mounds of words and writing three books a year. I’m one of the former, certainly.
But one piece of advice I heard from both Neil Gaiman and James Patterson, as well as David Sedaris, is that you must make the time to write every day. If you want to learn, to grow, to be a writer, then you have to want it bad enough to sacrifice for it. Get up at five am, write before work, write on the train, say no to party invitations and movies. Write, in order to be a writer.
Does that mean I’m not one? Or does it mean I need to get back on the horse? Or does it mean I’m being lazy? Or does it mean that Covid brain is a thing, and the exhaustion and pain make it okay to want to lay very, very still? Is it some combination of all these things?
I don’t know. But I do know that I like how I feel when I’m being creative, and staying positive is important right now.
Are you feeling creative? Are you writing or doing whatever your passion is? I’d like to know.