Yesterday, one of my co-workers had asked me about how my writing’s been coming along. At first I answered, “It’s nonexistent,” but then I took those words back immediately and thought a little more carefully about my response.
I wouldn’t say it’s nonexistent–everyday I’m writing in my paperback journals, and sometimes, even writing myself emails–it’s more like my outlet for sharing my work is on hiatus. I write daily, but more about my own feelings than anything else.
I’ve been brewing ideas about how to go about my rewrite for Novel 1, but it seems the ideas need some time to incubate. Also, I’ve realized in the past month that it’s just futile to beat myself up over not reaching so many mini-goals that I set for myself on a daily basis. It all stems from the fact that I am a perfectionist, and when I don’t accomplish everything I want to accomplish during a certain period of time, I feel at a loss.
Well, no more. These days I’m trying to let things slide a little, to just take things a little more easily so I don’t burn out my motivation and my creative juices.
There’s a time and place for everything. When my creative muse wants to come back and knock on my door again, I’ll be ready.