I didn’t write much last night.Â I’d just finished one short project and was waiting for notes from pre-readers.Â I worked a little on some cover copy for an upcoming book and rules for a contest that goes with said book (more on those soon).Â All in all, it took a little less than an hour and didn’t involve a single word of fiction.
It was horrible!
As the night wore on and shifted into morning, I felt antsy.Â I had trouble sleeping.Â This morning, every last one of my nerves is jangling.Â Because I haven’t written.Â Because I feel like I’m wasting precious time.
Want to know why blog updates haven’t been as frequent?Â I’ve been writing.Â If I’m not at work, sleeping, or eating, I’m usually writing.Â It’s a compulsive need.Â I couldn’t stop if I tried.
Sharks need to keep swimming or they die.Â Writers need to keep writing.Â Trust me, it’s not a situation we demanded or anything like that.Â We’re not really useful for anything else.Â We can write, and that’s about it.Â It’s not pretty, but there it is.
I’ve been think a lot lately about how to make this writing gig a career.Â The odds are ridiculously long with the economy the way it is, but I remain optimistic.Â And I’m going to keep writing no matter what.
Because I can’t stop.