When working through it isn’t enough.

If you’ve read the last few posts you know last week was a low point.

I had too much to drink one night which spiraled until I found myself unable to write.

I didn’t work through it, because you don’t work through depression. It’s a battle that will never be won. It comes back again and again.

With last week I took a step back at what I was doing in my life in writing and my focus was off.

I hadn’t decided what to improve.

I knew there were things in my writing but I didn’t sit down and go through them.

Last week I started reading the Harry Bosch books by Michael Connelly. I read books 1-5 and the first book in the Renee Ballard series.

Connelly makes you like his main characters. They have flaws but they’re valid flaws for who they are. These types of characters are what I needed to focus on, which I why I read so many of them.

I’m taking a break from Hieronymus for a little while. I love Bosch but reading that fast made my head spin.

It’s the characters that make the book interesting, not the story or plot. It’s taken me too long to understand that.

It’s the characters stupid.

Working to get on track.

This past week blew me up.

I haven’t been able to get any decent words on the page and the stop-start of stories has thrown my mind into a tiff.

I’ve written little bits of story, but nothing substantial and not anything I’d show to anyone, even my wife.

Today, this morning, I’m working on getting things done, because I can’t sit here and not work. I have to do something, even if it’s editing.

I’m stick to what I said on Monday and I’m getting past what I wrote on Wednesday, and it’s hard.

I’ve had to look at myself and my writing in way that I don’t want. Hell, I’m not sure any of us what’s to look at ourselves the way I have in the past week.

This weekend leads into another week and it’s day-by-day.

I keep going because I have to prove something to myself.

This isn’t about getting published anymore.

Its about proving to myself with all the headgames and all the the ways my mind tells me I can’t, that I can.

Have a good weekend and I’ll see you on Monday.

Catching the failure bug

The problem of being an unpublished writer it there isn’t a metric of comparison. I can’t compare myself to my writing idols, they have something I don’t.

This weekend, after I reconciled with myself about my actions, I thought about my work ethic.

Have I been working hard enough to get published? Am I focusing properly? Is there something more I could be doing?

I realized there are a few things I’m not doing and some I’m not doing enough of. There are streams of sunlight at the end of each storm, but we tend to think of the storm, what it did, how it wrecked us, but we don’t think about the clean up. We’re too focused on the storm.

The storm struck me this past weekend. It made me question my writing, it made me question myself.

For me and my struggles with depression, this is a dangerous road to travel. Much like sandbags along a river, I have to set up markers and ways to stop the progress of doubt and feelings the stop or hinder me.

These markers usually work, but this one, it’s taking things away from me.

I’m working to get through it. I stare at the keys when I’m writing and wonder if I should keep going. I get words, but are they good enough?

I feel my writing is good. I’ve improved greatly over the last eighteen months. But the doubt crept in. The sandbags filled with water and the dam broke.

Life tosses us through the storm, the sandbags break, the water spills over the dam, but we keep going because that’s who we are and that’s what we do.

But sometimes, the dam breaking hurts. It causes us to question where we’re going.

I’m struggling a bit this week. It’s been a while since I have, but putting it on the page for the world to see and for the world to know helps me get through it.

Finding hope, and the motivation to write…

I missed posting on Wednesday. There were issues and I had things to deal with.

Life comes at us hard when we’re not expecting it. It will punish us. Make us feel like we’re worthless and keep kicking until we can’t breath.

This punishment can be brought on by our actions, our inactions, or by not paying attention to our own thoughts.

Our own thoughts will beat us worse than 3 rounds in the octagon. It will take what we believe tear it apart and leave us asking how it happened.

Getting through that pain is the hardest thing we will do in our lives.

I’ve dealt with the loss of my brother, my father-in-law, who I felt close to, and the pain my mind inflicted on my felt worse.

Your mind will torture you, call you names, and when you think it’s done, it’s back for another helping of tossing you bullshit to doubt yourself.

That doubt will sink your dreams, your marriage, and any friendships you’ve created.

The only way through is to have a belief in your goals stronger than the bullshit in your head.

That belief will get you past the loss of anything. It will guide you in the darkest night and be the light to lead you.

This week has been one of reevaluation, digging in when I didn’t think I could go deeper, and trusting the process when I wanted to quit.

I really thought about giving up on writing this week. I hate to struggle and I feel like I’m struggling, not with writing but with life. I know it will get better but right now, staring at nearly nine unpublished books, it’s hard to be confident.

I’ll be pushing harder to get things published this summer and I’ll keep you posted but damn, I’m struggling to keep writing and it has nothing to do with the words.

I’m averaging 1500 words a day, reaching g 2700 words or more on some day.

Have to keep going.

Sick, depression, and lack of focus.

The story I’d been writing took a turn and I no longer feel I can finish it.

It may have to do with the cold I’ve been fighting for the last week.

It may also have to do with a bit of depression I’ve been dealing with because of not being able to write this story.

It took a turn sometime last week in a direction I don’t like and I thought I’d let it go, however, since then it’s become a boondoggle.

The boondoggle was exasperated when I started watching A Discovery of Witches this past week. It’s too much like my story and may toss it in the bin because of that.

Anyway, happy writing.