I have been so busy that I just can’t seem to find the time to write. I don’t even remember what it was like when I did actually have some time to persue my interest and not focus on work and other obligations.
I’ve been planning on writing a sequel to my novel Equinox since I started writing it. I basically wrote it with the second part in mind. I have the beginning and the outline of the book in my head. But I simply can’t find the time to put pen to paper (fingers on the keyboard). And it’s driving me nuts.
Have you ever experienced finding something that makes you feel most vulnerable and yet most confident? Writing has been fundamental to me as a person, as an adult. I have found myself through it. It has made me less shy and more extrovert. I never admitted to myself that I was good at something – whether it was school, dancing or sports. I was never sure. But writing was the first thing that I have been telling myself that I am good at. I believe in myself.
As gruesome as the writing process might be, it is beyond magnificent for me. I adore it. I get lost in it and am completely consumed by the story. It’s like drowning and yet feeling like your lungs are full of oxygen. (Maybe I’m a mermaid.)
Ever since I have published my book, I feel as though my life path has led to this point. I feel it in my bones. I was meant to write. (Now the readers of the world must get that too.)
Without writing I don’t feel connected to myself. I am detached. There are ideas and plots overpopulating my mind and I don’t have time to write them down and set them free. I just can’t take it anymore. I have to pour my thoughts somewhere otherwise they are going to eat me inside out. I swear if I don’t find a minute, an hour or a day to write I will implode.
This will be the Christmas gift to myself. I’m going to find the time to write in December. I have to. There is no other way.
Hope you’re warm and safe!