It is that time of my writer-crisis cycle. I haven’t worked on the Heyswood novel in 22 days. The shame and guilt is piling up. I haven’t been able to shake the negative emotions to get back on track. The longer I am away from the material the harder it is to start. My mind is clamoring to ease the mental stress, making up excuses and justifications, but I know the truth. I’m just not doing the work.
It is painful to admit I’ve fallen off my schedule and I have only myself to blame. I don’t want to be at fault for things. Having my fear happen has me running to the land of escapism. Regrettably, this has happened many times before. You’d think I’d have learned how to deal with this exact circumstance by now.
Last week I made half-hearted attempts to start the 5th draft. Each intention to start was met with part of me screaming “I don’t wanna, I’m not gonna” over and over until easing the mental onslaught become my top priority. A glimmer of redemption came today as I drove home from the Hearts of the West RWA Utah chapter conference.
Or am I fooling myself with all this deep-thought mumbo-jumbo? Is it more honest to say I’ve been lazy since returning from a 10 day vacation and started watching tv instead of working on the 5th draft? More honest to admit I could try harder to get back to it? Facts alone report I’m 13 days off my original intention to start after vacation. I feel another bout of excuse making and justifications coming on.
Ahh, the writer’s life.