The starts of my writing, and stops.

Heard from Hellie who gave me feedback on the new plot outline I wrote for her, so last week when I’d been planning to write loads I ended up pulling out one of the themes from the manuscript (I’m halfway-ish through writing it).

She’s right of course. It’s better without. I was trying too hard to make the plot interesting. I’m always so concerned that my writing is boring. Always, always. So I guess my plot ended up like it just had an amphetamine bender. Gross. Need to not worry about it being boring, my superstitious mind tells me it might manifest otherwise.

Had been hoping to finish the first draft by the end of this month, but that’s not in sight. There so much life stuff on. Like figuring out my brother’s tax returns which is a f*cking “ball ache” and this week, when I was excited to get back to writing (rather than editing), I remembered Dad’s hospital appointment which always eats the morning, and the afternoon afterwards I’m always left feeling emotionally eaten. Oh, the dull dread of that pale blue hospital waiting room, yet Dad being him, always manages to crack smiles from his comrades.

Wish we were facing anything else, but the big C.

I have this dream that I’ll write a great book and earn enough money to send him to the best lung cancer treatment hospital in the world, but then I read what I’ve written. F*CK.

And life stuff keeps on.

So I must.

Usually, my writing days are Thursday-Sunday (unless I have to swap days or hours at the paid job) and during those days, when everything goes right, I feel alive and grateful.

Making two moves in the day is helpful so I’ll start writing in bed, then go to a cafĂ©, then a pub or I keep trying to go to my shack in Dad’s tiny garden (except it has this poignant memory of the moment I found out he has cancer and I see his face when he saw my realisation each time I think of going there. I need to not think of it).

(I need to not think of it, and by thinking I shouldn’t think of it means I’m still thinking of it, and it’s still there. Disappear, why won’t it just disappear?)

A change of scenery refreshes my mind and I’m ready to write again. That’s the point.

If I’m lucky I’ll write 2000 words, more often I’ll write 1000, but I don’t beat myself up for any less because there are weeks I don’t write and weeks I write into each crack of the day.

Depends what’s happening really.

Tea helps, coffee helps, gym breaks help, healthy food breaks help, looking out the window and laying back staring into space. They all help, with writing too.

Today, before or after the hospital, I will be happy to hit 50 words, yet here I am already making an excuse that I’ve written this, so can this count if I don’t get back to the manuscript?

One thing I learned at uni last year is that it’s ok to stop writing when you find out the worse thing you can imagine and when it brings low moments, forgive yourself for not writing, but at the same time because life does, it’s incredibly important to keep on, with writing too.

So, keep on.

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