I think I’m losing my mind.
Okay, so maybe I’ve started one too many blog posts with that exact statement as a lead. Maybe it’s true, and tiny pieces of my brain really are peeling away at subtle intervals without my knowing it. I mean, I don’t normally color-code things THAT often. Especially not my closet. Ever.
So yeah, maybe it’s time for a transplant. Just let me keep the creative part.
I’ve written three articles and a short bio already today, not to mention the usual journaling scrabble and what feels like a thousand e-mails. I don’t think I realize how much we write every day even when we’re NOT “writing” until I have nothing on my agenda other than – you guessed it – writing. I’m even writing about writing as you’re reading this and shaking your head, hoping I get that transplant pretty darn soon.
I think the more time I spend alone, the more ideas I get for diving deeper into my memoir – but the less motivation I actually have to open it and start writing. It’s scary, getting into the tough stuff I’ve always made sure to avoid writing about. But it’s also necessary. And I always describe one of my annoying personality traits as “stubbornly determined,” so I guess even if I don’t want to write it all down, I’m still going to eventually.
I miss my novel. Meh.