Writers of fiction tend to be pretty good at lying. We even lie to ourselves from time to time. “I’ll make time to write after I get off of work.” “I just need another drink to feel up to writing.” “One more turn, then into the word mines I go!” So on and so forth. I could talk about all sorts of mitigating factors and less than ideal reasons why I got behind in my word count this week, but in the end, all that matters is that I didn’t make my goals. I could blame the generosity of good friends during the Steam sale, or any number of less positive outside factors, but boil it all down, and the shortcomings are all on my head.
I’m close to the end of Cold Streets now. There’s a part of me that believes I’m about to hit the last big hill that will rocket me towards the egress and gift shop of this latest roller coaster of wordsmithing. Maybe all I need is one last concerted push. It’s hard to say.
I’m going to try and shake off this week and move on. It’s been hard for lots of people. The next one better be an improvement. I still believe a better future is something worth striving towards and fighting for.
I just need to puzzle out what that better future is for me, and once I do, make a plan to get started on it as soon as possible.
