Life is good.  I love life. I love spending time with my kiddo and time with my hubby and time, well, just being.  But then other life things start getting in the way and I find myself wanting to jump the next around the world cruise so that I can just find some space to breathe again.

As I am sure many other people my age have gone through, I am finding myself wanting to just do the fun and soul-filling things I like instead of putting so much effort into things that just let me be.  My job as a children’s librarian has been very filling and there is not a week that goes by that I don’t feel that I am doing good for a younger person but it isn’t something that fills my soul.  I could leave it tomorrow and not be terribly sad about it in a month.  I would hate not being in the middle of things, but I would get over it.  It’s a relief to know that, actually. (Cue to the part where I get REALLY self-absorbed…)

But then I wonder what life would be like if I didn’t have my job to go to every day.  Would I sit down and finish the book that I am just on the edge of completing?  Would I ever just make the leap to find that editor, spend that money, or put myself out into the big bad world?  I dream about it all of the time.  I spend every other minute I am not with my family looking at books on the shelves of my library.  Books that were written by people that were not afraid. And not lazy.  They did the steps they needed to to to make their goal happen.  I can’t seem to make mine stick.

I write all of the time.  It used to be on my blog but now it’s for someone else.  For a pop culture website that is currently growing in popularity. I joined it because it seemed like a hoot.  It’s something that requires me to put out five articles a week.  But I like it.  I have fun with it. I’ve learned a lot.  The sucky thing is that it’s keeping me from finishing my own project and it’s starting to make me not like myself very much.  I know I have the capacity to do both, but why am I putting them before me?

It’s not easy for me to keep schedules (they are entirely too easy for me to ignore) and I don’t like the pressure of having a deadline hanging over my head.  Or, at least I think I don’t.  The hell of it is that I do my best work when I am under pressure.  I purposely leave things to the last second so that I am forced to focus and GET SHIT DONE!  It’s a strategy that has done me well in the past, but right now I just can’t make it happen for myself.

The plan was that I would have something self published by March.  Well that ship has obviously sailed.  I told myself it had to be done but then I turned around and told myself to piss off.  I’m not going to die if I don’t have something written this week.  I’m not going to die if I enjoy a Sunday instead of making sure I have something to go live on Monday.  I purposely give myself a middle finger salute and do the fun stuff.  But isn’t writing supposed to be my fun stuff?

I am getting more out of writing on WordPress for the last nine months than I ever thought possible. I am discovering that I have a voice and that there are a few people that want to hear it.  But my will to tell my stories is dwindling and I’m terrified that I will just let my dream of writing turn into dust. How can I refocus? How can I get my mojo back?  Can anyone tell  me how I can start writing for myself again?

(Do you see how I found time to write a 600 word rant about not being able to write–but not an actual story?)

I’ll take anything you got.

© DRB 2016

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