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Most of the past week has been wasted on writing.
Hold on--this will make sense in a moment.
I've been doing a lot of writing this week. It seems like thousands of words just came pouring out. The problem? I'm not sure how much of it can be used. I've been in a mood. This happens to everyone, of course, but my mood has been seeping into my writing. Everything that's been written has a whiny tinge to it--including the fiction, which was surprising because many of those characters wouldn't be whiners. I know that I'm starting to come out of it, but not before everything that could go wrong did go wrong. I'm taking today to turn that around. Now I have the unfortunate uphill battle of rewriting everything so that I can get back to focusing on what I want to say without being an eye-rolling fifteen-year-old about it.
That, and I have another issue. I have to settle on a project to actually see through to the end. I've been skipping back and forth, with nothing really giving me that drive to see it through to completion. I have to find something, because I need one more finished product before the end of the year (I hit number three with my first-on-Medium piece: "The Ideal Reader Doesn't Exist").
The positive spin on all of this? I've had plenty of time to read while avoiding my indecisiveness, so I just may hit my reading goal for the year. It's the little things...
