Having got so far behind on my wordcount in the last week, I have hidden myself away in a beautiful location, courtesy of some lovely friends of mine, who have very kindly opened their home to me. It’s hard to imagine being anything other than inspired while looking out of the massive windows at this impressive view, but I must admit, I have been struggling.
The lack of chocolate certainly wasn’t helping, so I have done a dash to the supermarket to stock up, as tomorrow I will be all out pelting the keyboard. As it happens, Camp Nanowrimo are having an official writing marathon tomorrow, you can see more info here. So far today I have managed 3400 words, which is a small effort towards my 20,000 word goal for this weekend, but it’s a start.
So tomorrow I will write as if my life depended on it, because who knows how madly busy next week might be?
Going back to my lack of inspiration, I have realised that it’s actually really very hard to be positive all the time (and believe me, I do try, after all, I know that whatever energy you send out, you get back, so I try to send out positivity) and still be a writer. (Or artist or musician, for that matter) Because these pursuits generally involve writing, painting or singing about tough subjects, usually sad ones. (Unless of course you write comedies, you lucky people!) And to write about heartbreak, it’s quite necessary for your heart to be broken. Sometimes repeatedly. And every time it happens, you begin to wonder what the point of it is. Did I get my heart broken so that I could write that really heart-wrenching scene in my book? Was that the reason for it? Or would it have happened anyway, whether I was a writer or not?
I realise you could drive yourself crazy asking questions like these, and believe me, I think I have. (Though anyone who knows me would argue that I’ve always been a little kooky).
Part of me wishes that I had a passion for a career that didn’t involve the uncertainty, anguish and pain that writing does. That I wanted to be something straightfoward that I could train for and just do. Something that I earnt a decent amount of money for doing and felt satisfied at the end of the day.
Instead I must remind myself that I am lucky to have a passion at all, and that not only do I have goals and aspirations, but that the world of publishing has changed and evolved enough for me to make them happen.
And that perhaps if I cannot be positive, when things seem so dark, I can at least be thankful for all that I have, all the amazing people that I know, and for the love that I have experienced.
Apologies for the melancholy nature of this post, I blame it on listening to one too many Ray LaMontagne songs!