I’m seriously starting to doubt that I want to be a writer. It’s clear that I do want it, because it’s what I think about most, and I have no other marketable skills, but…
I don’t write enough. I don’t get things done. I’m definitely not making a living at it.
Can’t seem to get any traction on LYP. The ideas I don’t have time to work on come out more fully formed than the ones I’m supposed to be finishing or pitching. I get to a certain point on everything and my brain turns to mush. No more to add, no embellishing or finishing. Just dead in their tracks, like someone shot a large caliber round into the engine block of my creativity car.
With work on the table, one would think I’d be a bit more motivated. No. Motivation isn’t the issue. Don’t know what is exactly, but that’s not it. Maybe it’s self-doubt. I either can’t start, can’t finish, or can’t get happy with what I’m doing. And I can’t get any of it far enough to talk it out with people.
It would seem I need a new line of work. But hey, since I didn’t get anything done this weekend, now seems like a perfect time to go to the movies.
I wonder if I’ll laugh.