In the past month or so, our house has been a bustling hive of out-of-town guests. From friends to family, Matt and I have been happy to welcome our peeps with open arms.
I have zero regrets about spending time with people I love but company always means one thing. Forced vacation for me.
Though, it doesn’t have anything to do with our guests. Our guests are great. If I want to come in the office and work, none of my family or friends are opposed to me doing that of course. They’re all grown-ass individuals who can certainly entertain themselves for however long I’m inspired.
It’s just, I’m just never inspired anymore.
I want to blame the visits, different energy floating around our house, lack of consistent quiet, or whatever other excuse is most convenient to apply as to why I’ve barely put more than two words on the page since I wrapped NaNoWriMo last November.
But applying false blame is a plotline better left in one of my books.
If I ever write one again.
Ugh. I swear. It’s like my characters are up there in my brain, rattling around and screaming at me to get their stories out but I just can’t seem to organize anything long enough to bring it to the end.
I don’t believe in writer’s block but I do believe in creative drought.
Thing is, I’m not entirely sure how to re-fill my pond of creativity. It’s out there in the sun, festering algae and slimy bits as hordes of little vampire mosquitoes sink their time sucking teeth into my brain.
Maybe it’s lack of sleep. I sure haven’t gotten enough recently. Maybe it’s panic about getting older body changes. Or maybe I’m just mentally worn out.
I hate…wait, no, that’s too weak a word…I abhor being unproductive. Feeling like I’m lazy. But I loathe putting in 150 million percent effort for zero return even more.
So I’m in this place right now, stuck between really wanting to just keep going because it’s not only what I do but who I am, and giving up entirely to go become a full-time virtual assistant with a real salary and someone to validate my existence.
Yeah, I’m not getting that office job. Even if I’m able to work in my own office in jammies. If I give up now just to go get a paycheck then I’d feel like a bigger sell-out than if I just keep at this grind and finally start selling some of my work to Hollywood.
Goals, increasingly lofty or not, are my true motivation right now.
Because, I don’t know how long it’s been since I started dreaming of seeing my name in the credits of a movie somewhere, but I fully intend to make that dream a reality in the next couple years.
And I’m looking at you, Hallmark movie channels!
But, if I ever hope to get there I have to stop rambling on in blog posts and start getting serious about writing commercially viable books.
Guests, gone. House, quiet. Fingers, typing.
Let’s do this.
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In addition to this drivel I also write books, both fiction and non-fiction.
Learn more on my author page.