Unless I pull myself together and write roughly 1,500 words daily over the course of 37 days, I won’t reach my goal of a finished draft (second book) by April 1st.
I don’t always see goals through to completion: it’s an issue I’m very much aware of. Why do I give up so easily? Lack of confidence? Doubt? Laziness? Poor work ethic? Or perhaps I’m afraid of success more than the safety net of failure.
I wear the label of Writer comfortably, though sometimes the label’s more faded than bejeweled. I write as a source of healing, introspection, and artistic inspiration. I seek to create stories that spark the imagination while providing readers with an opportunity for reflection.
I write because I love the art and act of it; the way the pencil dances across the paper or how my fingers float on a keyboard. I write because it makes me feel part of something profound – an unseen connection between spirit and mind.
So then why haven’t I been writing lately? I lost the passion in the midst of chasing a self-imposed deadline. 🤦♀️🤦♀️
I’m resetting my artistic spirit on this “Twosday”, grounded in the present as I write forward.