The pandemic has really flipped our world upside down, barely allowing me to remember what life looked like before everything shut down.
All negative words, aren't they?
As much as I've enjoyed the positive, the negatives tend to creep up between the cracks and try to pull me down. What frustrates me, is that I allow myself to be frustrated or become hard on myself.
I'm fortunate to have had both vaccines. I've kept my job and never worried about losing my house. My family and friends are healthy.
Time not spent rushing to parties or events has allowed me to complete and polish my third novel, finding the courage to query agents with the dream of becoming traditionally published. My confidence in my writing has grown. I recognize how important it is to me and how badly I need to stay creative.
But the days on the couch after work or nights I spent doing my nails nags at me.
You should be writing.
You won't make it at this rate.
Look how long it was since your last blog entry.
All I see is failure and it takes all the energy I can muster to fight off these claims I taunt myself with.
The guilt of not being better or faster. Guilty of ignoring editing or leaving my laptop closed.
But what author would I be and what story would I tell if I forced myself to do everything on a schedule? Words would be forced, characters would be unrelatable, and the story would be yawn worthy.
Why is falling into a rabbit hole or Trixie & Katya YouTube videos so bad? Reading instead of writing is the last thing I should punish myself over. Getting enough sleep and being able to breathe easier will only do me good.
I know the spark will come again and I'll scurry down into my creative cave, reappearing when I'm low on food or tea. Sometimes we just need to remind ourselves of this. Allow ourselves to not be perfect. And do what we need to do to refuel and take charge again.