I knew this day would come, one way or another. That I’d be here writing this post, even though goddammit, I KNEW it. Basically, I haven’t put metaphorical pen to paper in about three weeks. Not due to writer’s block, which is rarely an obstacle for me anymore, but because life has been crazy. I took a new day job because, surprise, people aren’t rushing out to buy a scifi book by a first-time indie author (NOTE: Not actually a surprise), no matter how well received it has been. And, for those of you who have paid attention to me for more than three seconds, you know I am incapable of doing things at anything less than full speed.
I published a book last year under similar circumstances, so I wrack my brains trying to figure out what is different. Part of it is, I’m sure, that writing is a job now, not a distraction- one I hope will be my full-time career before too terribly long. But it’s not just a distraction from a long day anymore, it’s work, and it’s not just writing. It’s marketing, planning, etc, etc, etc. So my instinct is less to jump on the computer and write until I pass out as soon as I walk in the door. I want a distraction from the distraction (which essentially sums up my personality, if you factor in booze).
There is also my complete lack of patience, wanting it all now (buy my book already), so focusing on actually, you know, writing seems a little more difficult when I wasn’t also trying to peddle my wares. Do I work on the book? Which book? A blog post? Where should I invest money? Crap, I don’t have enough money.
Short version, no excuses. I have to focus, and it will get there. I don’t have a magic pill that gets me, or you, over this sort of hump, and I won’t pretend to (there are plenty of writing blogs that do, if you’re into false hope). It’s work, and I have to work at it.
That’s the fun part, really.