I mean the one about an object in motion remains in motion, an object at rest remains at rest. My writing has stagnated over the past 2 years. It started with a certain problem in my previous job that sent me packing for a 3 day trip to a small city near Terra Haute, Indiana to get raked over the coals by a customer’s management. They sent me despite requesting our top brass.
I’ll not go into any more detail about that, the details aren’t important now. Follow that up with the ascent of Yertle the Turtle into that top brass and my stress level rose so high I couldn’t write consistently. It got so bad that I haven’t written anything like regularly for an embarrassingly long time. The little bit I have done in the past year has stunk up the place.
Writing is like exercising. Or, more like playing piano. You know–if I miss one day of practice, I can tell, if I miss two days of practice, the world can tell. Since I left the Heart Attack Factory(TM) it hasn’t improved. My stress level is down, but I lost how it feels to write regularly. It’s something that isn’t going to change on its own.
I’m something like3 novels and 50 short stories behind where I should be. I also seem to have lost my ability to generate story ideas in any quantity. Time was I had more than I could write.
I think this is a vicious circle that feeds on itself. The longer I go without writing, the worse it gets and the harder it is to get back into the saddle. It’s like I’m back in 2004, before I started the novel I finished. That was when I became a real writer because I took it seriously. I’ve regressed that far, and it’s pitiful. But writing is part of who I am, and today I have bibliography, unlike 2004. The boilerplate stuff I write today can sell. The good stuff? Remains to be seen.
I’ve been stuck on this semi-pro plateau for far too long. No point of thinking about what might have been if I kept writing regularly after that flight to Indianapolis two years ago. I can’t change that. What I can do is move forward. First, I have to get back on the horse. That means, I go write no matter how I feel. I can’t think of anything to write, but i have 4 unfinished short stories in addition to the aborted novel. I’m sure I can find something to work on.
So, I’m off…wish me well on the long climb out of this nasty hole I’ve dug myself into.