I’ve been writing. Slowly but I’ve been doing it. I haven’t really been feeling it but I’m making myself get the words out anyway. I’m a little over 7k words at this point on the story. I keep wanting to give up and work on something else though and I’m not sure if the POV is working and I need to try and just get it out and know that later I can fix it all. If I still care.
That’s the problem though, I usually don’t care enough later. Okay,
really I don’t usually finish. Sure I’ve done NaNoWriMo many times now
and have hit that sweet spot of 50k most of them but only a couple of
times did I actually finish the story I was writing. And both of those
were fic of some type or other and I wrote them just to write them.
The original stuff I’ve tried my hand on? I hit the 50k, maybe go a
little over and then get bored. November is over and I tell myself I’m
just going to take a little break for the holidays and then get back to
the book and by then I don’t care anymore.
I get bored too easily and that has always been the problem. Or one of the many problems.
Which is why I question me doing this writing thing as it is. Why do
it? What’s the point? It was an old dream I had a long time ago when I
was younger and still believed in having dreams, so why bother now?
I’m not sure what the answer is. I need to try I guess. I need to see
if this is still something I want or not. Life is short and I’m not
getting any younger.
I want to keep doing the work. Keep writing and actually finish some
things and then around my next birthday I can see where I stand. I can
then ask myself if I want to be doing this or if I need something else.
I haven’t made an art quilt in ages. I haven’t played with paints in a
while either. Earlier in the year I was taking photos obsessively on a
daily basis and now I can barely bring myself to pick up the camera.
I’m not sure what is going on beyond the usual depression/anxiety
happy fun combo. I need to do the work though, even if it seems
pointless. Maybe even if it is pointless.