It has been a month since my last post and I would love to report lots of exciting adventures and writing progress, but the truth is that I (like lots of good creative folks) have simply been both underwhelmed and overwhelmed.
On the writing front, I did publish a new collection of poetry titled Shades of Rainy Days and have been working on other poetry projects almost consistently. My novels, however, seem stuck on a back burner. Again.
I think about one or the other of my stories daily, jotting down notes and ideas. Daydreaming for hours about plot twists, character development and the perfect opening line, I get lost in the idea of writing my novel. However, the sit-in-the-chair and piece-it-together part seems to have come to a grinding halt.
I don’t have writers block. I am not living in fear or self-doubt. I do not lack the ability, I am not short on time (at least not enough to justify not writing) and my computer is not on the fritz.
I am simply tired.
There are varying factors that contribute to the overall feeling of malaise. A stressful job, with very specific draining factors that are mostly out of my control. Medication that I have put off for years, but have now reached the limitation on being without. Saying “yes” to the people and things in my life that are important to me. The unexpected death of my dearest friend (and supporter, critic, encourager of my writing) brought a new heaviness into my life.
The first set factors leave my body tired. I can work on getting more sleep, getting in shape and generally taking better care of myself. The last one, well, I suppose I’ll have to learn to live with that loss; find a way to keep her friendship alive even though she is gone.
Time to start writing those stories again. Time to (once again) reprioritize. Time to start thinking and doing a variety of things.
If for every stop there is a start, I suppose there is hope for a final ‘the end’.
Being tired may not be so bad. If it’s for the right reasons.