Courtesy Floating Robes
It’s been said before, and I’ll go ahead and say it again: You have to fight for your time to write. You have to carve it out of your day with a butcher’s cleaver and a variety of other sharp objects. You need to covet those bloody chunks and make the most of every messy, succulent bite. If you can’t do that, you won’t make it as a writer.
It’s been hit and miss for me the last week or two. I’m hopefully going to see the tail end of a situation or two in the very near future, and I’m hoping that will ratchet down some of my stress. I have a lot on my plate, and I’m trying to manage things the best way I know how.
Last week I felt a bit like I’d hit ‘the wall’ that cyclists and runners talk about. I just ran headlong into a feeling of inadequacy and self-doubt after a couple days of near giddiness. There was a time that such a downturn would have crippled me for a long time. But I stopped and considered it. I wrote about it. I kept up with exercise, made some plans, looked ahead to the future, and got back to work on Cold Streets. I can’t say things are 100% improved, but they are better, and I’m making progress.
It’s my hope that Cold Streets will be done by the end of the summer, and I can get in touch with my lovely and talented cover art folks to put something together so it hits virtual shelves by the end of the year. I’m still not sure exactly how to organize everything, from my time to my project priorities, but I know it’s something I really need to do.
Basically, the way I handled that wall was smashing through it.
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