August 22, 2013
Sneaking up right in front of me
Something that has always managed to happen to me. It’s kind of freaky. I’m sure there’s a universal law relating to it, I’m not sure.
Here’s the pattern.
I spiral downward, fighting and clawing my entire way until I hit bottom.
I bounce for a bit before I get settled.
I start the long climb out.
I don’t get very far before I realize this is a long damn way to climb.
I make a post bitching about it.
My next hand hold to pull up, I emerge into sunlight.
It’s as if my bitching and complaining manages to spur something in me, in my life. No idea. Like jinxing myself but in a good way.
So. What happened?
I made a blog on Tuesday, bemoaning my state of writing. I’ve been clawing my way out of the funk, reorganizing my life, re-examining the habits I’ve clung to but weren’t serving me any more. I’m clearly desperate to shake off the mud and move forward and in my last desperate attempts to do so, I bitched about it here.
Then, this morning, still managing to keep my momentum going (go me), I’m sorting through things I need to finish writing, things I need to edit, what’s ready to go to betas and be submitted to paying markets (or to fluff up for sale in my Sooper Sekrit Selp-Publishing Project). I was prepared, when I pushed up my sleeves to really dig in, to find that I had a lot of stuff in half finished stages and that there wouldn’t be a whole lot (okay, I’ll admit, I wasn’t expecting there to be any finished). I would then organize in order of how close I am to finishing and would just write my little productive butt off and ‘Git-R-Done!’ as Larry the Cable Guy says.
I’m not sure how to express my surprise when I discovered I actually had things finished. They need editing, sure, but I had managed during my depressive funk of spiraling procrastination to get them completed.
They are up for edits next.
When did that happen? I sure don’t remember them. Yet there they were in all their finished glory, pulsating with life in readiness to be edited.
I won’t even tell you the terrific glee I felt when I realized that what I wrote was pretty damn good. Sort of shoots me in the foot when I want to lament I suck eggs and when did I get this fool notion that I actually wanted to be a writer.
In two days, writing has moved from being mortal enemies with me, back into passionate lover.
I can get behind this.