Current Total Word Count: 1,599.
Hey, so writing is a thing. I wanted to write these past few days; I really did. But everything set against me; even myself.
It’s very difficult as someone who is prone to procrastinate to be driven forward to finish something without a deadline. As a student, I always had something holding a gun to my head to finish a paper. There was a concrete, immovable deadline that wasn’t controlled by my whims. Thus, I could procrastinate for a short period, but eventually – like this comic strip – panic would set in and I would feverishly create.
Now, I’m done with school, and writing is something I have the leisure of doing at my own pace, which is a pace of zero miles per hour. If I don’t feel passionate about a scene, I just don’t write it. I haven’t felt the need to make creation a habitual, purposeful act, but a weather front that comes in as it sees fit to do.
I know some of you feel the same way. The muse is a cruel cloud, floating to and fro at her own rhythm. It can be difficult to pull her down to earth, and make her speak the things you wish. So I just look up at the cloud floating away, aware there are some great things out there, but I haven’t the strength to mend the rope, attach the hook, and hoist it into the air. Hopefully, the coming days will give me the courage to try once again to persevere my way through the quagmire of creation.