This is me struggling to meet my word count goal of the day.
It’s not that late, I’m just that tired.
Of the pandemic news, of course. Of the Gigantic-Titanic quantity of online content being created as I write those words, me, one of the millions of creators sharing with the void what’s up with their author life.
Writing-wise, it’s a bit slower this week. Anxiety tends to trigger my desire to escape in faraway lands, where the heroes always find happy, happy endings.
And my desire to see the bad guys, like the ones who rather sacrifice lives for the sake of their insignificant bank account then do everything they can to save as many people as possible, is being sent into the Grow-A-Human-Soul Institution, either change for the better, or get punished. I’m that Manichean.
Writing those kinds of stories is awesome, I love it. Although, reading stories is also very fun, and requires a bit less effort, and I have to fight my inner laziness and write.
I also have to fight another reality: where I live, the publishers closed. As you may know, my crazy quest is to be a traditionally published author.
Of course, the publishers will go back to business as usual, by the time the YA/Teen work in progress will be a complete, ready to be read, full-on novel.
It’s temporary. I know. But it’s funny how the temporary closures made my mindset shift from « must send a complete manuscript by the end of May » to « oh well… ».
I still want to be done with this manuscript, so I can focus on the « to-be self-published » writing project, the adult rom-com.
But I have to be realist. And get waltzing with the side effects of the pandemic.
And wait to see in which world I’m going to be able to sit and catch my breath.