Word count: 26,066 / 35,000
So… I didn’t end up travelling. A last-minute family medical situation came up. It was unreal. Nobody died, thank goodness. But my immediate family redirected all their trajectories to little old Perth. The last two weeks have been intense.
I think everything will go back to normal after this week. But the shake-up has given me time to think about my choice of career.
Am I cut out for writing? Can I do this long term? Do I even want to?
When times get tough, I turn to writing to re-centre myself. But if I turn to it too much, it actually throws me out of kilter. When times get tougher, I can’t write at all. Inspiration goes, motivation goes—I just don’t have energy in reserve to spin up imaginary worlds and materialise them enough to write about. (Though I wonder if intense method writing tactics might help here.)
But I do enjoy it. It’s opened my mind up to a lot of stuff. I get to learn new things now and call it a job. Friends ask how my work is going. They care. So, maybe I need to fret a little less about what the long-term looks like, and just enjoy this job for what it is today.
I’ve not written much at all in the last two weeks, but that’s OK. I wrote a bit today. I might write a bit more tonight. It’s OK. Bit by bit, I’ll get this fucking manuscript done. I live my life 750 words at a time.