Here I sit, days from my deadline, with only a sad, few, pitiful sentences written that will most likely be tossed out the window anyway. They pretty much reek, just so you know. They are my pathetic efforts to force myself into inspiration.
Is this the first time I have been asked to submit? Yes. Should I be stoked? Absolutely. What am I doing about it? Having a good old-fashined pity-party.
My muse packed her bags and ran off to the islands with my neighbor's sexy house-boy. Homewrecker.
I have a million reasons why I can't write on any given day. I bring my job home with me. The house is a disaster. I have to cook for everyone and by then, I am ready for a shower and bed. Too many people are around and i can't focus. The house is noisy. The phone won't stop ringing.
Any of these sound familiar to you?
Well, none of these are the case right now. I am alone here. The TV isn't on. The stereo isn't on either. Hubby is working out of town and the boys are at their dad's. I already had my dinner. Sinner already had her potty-walk and she's napping on the sofa. The only sounds, really, are crickets and the little tree frogs that like to go up and then hop to my third floor windows. It really is blissfully peaceful right now. OK, so the house is still a wreck, but aside from that everything is perfect.
So why can't I write? I certainly have enough inspiration to start a thread about why I can't write. I have returned several emails, too.
This is a big deal to me. To be asked for a sampling of my writing. My writing will be in this house's next publication which will be out next month. If I could get something wonderful written and sent in, I could be in their next one, too. Two in a row. That's amazing to me.
But here I still sit, wondering if this time next month I'll be full of ideas, past my deadline and full of self-loathing about it all.
*sigh*
Is this the first time I have been asked to submit? Yes. Should I be stoked? Absolutely. What am I doing about it? Having a good old-fashined pity-party.
My muse packed her bags and ran off to the islands with my neighbor's sexy house-boy. Homewrecker.
I have a million reasons why I can't write on any given day. I bring my job home with me. The house is a disaster. I have to cook for everyone and by then, I am ready for a shower and bed. Too many people are around and i can't focus. The house is noisy. The phone won't stop ringing.
Any of these sound familiar to you?
Well, none of these are the case right now. I am alone here. The TV isn't on. The stereo isn't on either. Hubby is working out of town and the boys are at their dad's. I already had my dinner. Sinner already had her potty-walk and she's napping on the sofa. The only sounds, really, are crickets and the little tree frogs that like to go up and then hop to my third floor windows. It really is blissfully peaceful right now. OK, so the house is still a wreck, but aside from that everything is perfect.
So why can't I write? I certainly have enough inspiration to start a thread about why I can't write. I have returned several emails, too.
This is a big deal to me. To be asked for a sampling of my writing. My writing will be in this house's next publication which will be out next month. If I could get something wonderful written and sent in, I could be in their next one, too. Two in a row. That's amazing to me.
But here I still sit, wondering if this time next month I'll be full of ideas, past my deadline and full of self-loathing about it all.
*sigh*
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Going crazy here.
