Here’s what I’m reading now. It’s incredible. Inspiring. But apparently not inspiring enough.
I flipped through my journal today. A moleskine that is about half filled, which I started using in November of 2013.
I used to curse myself for journaling too much when I used to have to buy three or four moleskines per year. But my, how things have changed.
It’s been almost two years now since I’ve written a book.
I know, that sounds, well, whatever. I don’t care how it sounds to anyone else. It’s absolutely terrible to me, when I used to finish NaNoWriMo every year. Sometimes twice.
I don’t know. I just don’t know.
The motivation isn’t there. The inspiration isn’t there. Even the IDEAS are hard for me to grasp and wrestle into submission enough to plot.
I’m failing at my dream. It’s completely up to me, it’s completely in my control, and I am failing.
I’ve taken control of a lot of things in my life.
I support myself and Elise. I have a good job. I pay my bills on time. I keep my house relatively clean. I don’t smoke. I have no more vices (except coffee, which you won’t pry from my cold, dead hands.)
It seems like I have nothing BUT time and resources to write all the books I want, but I don’t.
I keep making the wrong choices.
I keep saying tomorrow.
I don’t need advice. I don’t need someone to tell me to put my butt in the chair.
But there is something I do need.
I need to know I’ll get through this. I need to hear that this is a phase and it will pass. I need hope.
Does anyone have any of that, for me?