Another year, another new years’ resolution to do more writing. Mainly: to get the bloody book written already. All caps, all emphasis, extra swearage.
So why ain’t it happening yet?
What I would dearly love to know is how I get some energy. Working all day and commuting from Hampshire to London is severely impeding my drive. Good intentions about using the 1.5 hours each day on the train for writing gave way to a nap in the morning and games on the iPad in the evening pretty darn quick. What is it that’s stopping me?
Here’s what I think: I’m scared. I’m scared that whatever I come up with will be total shite and everyone will laugh at me. Which is the most likely scenario, let’s face it. A little bit of competition success with short stories does not mean I can sustain an entire book – and my only attempts thus far (2010 Nanowrimo, 2011 3DNC) have collapsed in little heaps of autumn leaves ready for a match.
What’s stopping me? Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear.
And procrastination. Can you get a pill for that yet?