I only sit down to write when I’m not home.
Otherwise, I answer questions, clean up messes, break up disagreements, and handle everything except writing.
Many times I struggle not to see that as a failed day.
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But then I get to the weekend and sit down at a coffee shop to quickly realize:
The interruptions in my everyday life are often the very things teaching me what my stories are actually about.
Grief. Struggle. Challenge. Redemption. Sacrifice. Forgiveness. Hope. Love.
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Ever lose time focusing on something that you shouldn't have...but maybe you should have...? ADHD is hard to understand when trying to write... 😅
https://t.co/V2NGx5iQ2n
Why do I feel such a pressure to post something? Is this a normal pressure to feel?
I just wanted to write my story and share along the way, and I consistently feel I need to have awesome things to say beyond that…and have no clue why.
Socials yell at me to post and share thoughts but the obstinacy within me kidnaps my mind, removing any ability to produce productive statements or ideas.
And when time is a limited factor in life…the paralysis fuels an internal anger I do not desire for any person.
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Analysis paralysis has always been an unwelcome friend.
I enjoy getting to write but consistently freeze up when it comes to share beyond my writing.
[1/2]
First excerpt from the novel I’ve been building is finally out.
Writing it was one thing. Sharing it is another.
If you enjoy fantasy with purpose, I’d love your thoughts.
https://t.co/Jz1Oc32Kzf
Writing a novel is like making eggs for breakfast. You have a plan for a beautiful omelet, prepare all the ingredients, and it starts to cook BEAUTIFULLY.
Then the flip comes, the omelet becomes scrambled eggs, and your story completely changes. Still beautiful but in a new way.
Today wasn’t about adding to the story’s word count.
It was about building the plan that will help me actually finish it.
Organizing projects, mapping the future.
Either a solid foundation...or an ADHD hyperfocus rabbit hole.
For now, I’m choosing the hope of option A...
😅
When I go a few days without reading, something feels off. Like a deep piece of me has gone missing.
Stories slow the world down and let me breathe. My imagination can wander.
Maybe that’s why it weighs on me when too many days pass without a book.
Anyone else get that feeling?