Look, I’m gonna be straight with you: it’s been a bad couple weeks for writing the novel.
The lack of numbers speak for themselves. We could spend a thousand words right here delving into the reasons why I’m not writing right now, and I daresay that’d be ironic—spilling ink on analysis instead of on writing. Not today. Today I’m just setting this assertion down:
I’m still here.
You know what? I’ve still written more novel in the last couple months than in the last seven years. And the thing is, this time? I know I’ll be back. Two weeks, three weeks? That ain’t nothing looking back on the dozen novels that’ll pop up on my shelf over the next couple years.
I never had the attitude to say that with confidence before. Now I do. I might write some novel tomorrow, I hope so, and it’s possible that I won’t. But I’ll be back, see? I’m cut out for this thing, and I know that in a way I never used to. Maybe it’s just that my writing coach told me so—in fact, that’s probably a big part of it—but that’s fine. I’ll take the mindset where I can beg, borrow, or steal it.
Because if I’ve learned anything over the past year or two? Since I decided to take this writing thing for serious again?
It’s all a head game. All of it. Always.
That’s about all I have to say tonight. Not much of a blog post, but a necessary one; at the very least, necessary for me, right now.
And I know it’ll be necessary for the Dan of six months or two years or two decades from now that needs reassurance that stumbling off the path isn’t a header over the edge of a cliff; it’s just a stumble.
And if there’s a version of Dan with another name that comes across this at just the right time? That’s even better.
You stepped off the path? I feel you. It’s fine. Just step back on.
Next time perhaps I’ll share what I have been doing to coax my uncooperative self back into line. But one thing at a time.