It has been a very long, very cold, and uninspiring winter. From November until probably the end of February, I was rather meh about everything. Yes, “meh”. Perfectly valid as a mood descriptor, I assure you. If you couldn’t tell from my posts, writing with Grey was about the only writing I felt remotely motivated to do—and even that was like pulling teeth sometimes (sorry, Grey). It wasn’t for lack of ideas or even “writer’s block”. I just felt tense and kind of ill every time I considered trying to work on one of my own stories. Which is not something writing should ever entail for me. When the thing that brings you joy starts brining you the complete opposite, what do you do?
Walking away and never writing again wasn’t a consideration. Writing is too much a part of who I am to ever give it up. However, I did consider “taking a break” so to speak. If I’m fighting myself every step, something’s up.
So, I ordered books; real paper books to read. And went back to crocheting, not knitting. True to form, once I made all of the alternate plans, my characters starting speaking to me again. The last two weeks or so I’ve made serious headway on my second Landa book and have been a bit more eager to tag with Grey. On the downside, I’m too gunshy at the moment to think too far ahead on my solo stuff or even discuss more than one project at a time with Grey. I don’t want to go back to not liking writing again.
And that, my friends, is why I will never be able to make a living as a writer. I love doing it too much for it to become “work”. Because when writing becomes more work than pleasure I get stopped up. To an extent you can force yourself to write and get through a story, meet a deadline, etc. But if you wind up hating the end product and the process itself, is it really worth it?
This is why I have a job that isn’t being an author. I need writing not to be “work”. If I don’t have that distinction, I’m miserable. Though I’m loathe to say that writing is my hobby or past-time. It’s more than that. I guess passion is the right word. And I love writing far too much to ruin it with all the stressors that making it a real, true job would do.
In other words, I think writing stared getting too close to the realm of jobness for me to continue. And that realization means I’ve got some serious thinking to do still. How to pursue my passion but not get bogged down by it.
Of course, the massive stint of editing I did in the late fall probably didn’t help matters any. But that’s a whole different story altogether.
On a happier note, the sun is shining and the temps are rising. Spring is on its way at long, long last, which means things are only going to get better. Or that could be the caffeine talking.
