Mental Meanderings

Night descends on tryhard writer poets.

*groans* My head hurts. I think the lack of sleep I've had over the past week is truly catching up with me and my head is pounding it's retaliation. It's strange how this sort of tension radiates down the neck and across the shoulders as well as across the skull. My eyes and sinus are feeling the strain too and I'm still considering the option of pain killer. I might take it because it's Thursday night and I'm not going to sleep early or I'll miss Stargate.

*sighs* Two nurofen and enough time that it should be working later and head is still hurting. I am however enjoying an episode of Bones but I might head to sleep after it Stargate or no Stargate. I obviously need the sleep. Or maybe I'll have a hot bath instead and see if that helps.

I pulled out The Dating Game today and really knocked my self esteem flat. I read the first couple of pages and I hate it. The original story, the plot, the concept it's all good but the exercution is abysmal. Too much crud and not nearly interesting enough. The characters are flat and there is very little emotion pulling readers in to wanting to care about them.

Internally I've been having this concept stretch, become more intricate. If I wrote the story today it would be a completely different story. A part of me wants to just forget the original draft and rewrite from scratch. Another part knows I need to do more work on the plotting and characterisation before I can really begin writing again. Yet another part is tempted to just admit defeat. I'm a terrible writer and there is no way I could write well enough that Harlequin would publish this let alone a book a year.

Yes, that is my goal, one romance book a year to cover the cost of living. I figure that would be my day job, then any other writing project, such as focusing on high fantasy instead would be a bonus. Of course to do that I have to get the first book finished. I remember feeling on top of the world when I completed the first draft of TDG but now I don't know why it seemed such an accomplishment.

*sighs* it's frustrating to find it so difficult to have faith in my ability. How can I truly be bad at something I've loved and aspired to all my life? There has never been anything but writing for me on a long term. Of course life has had it's misdirections and I've focused on many things over the year, letting my writing fall behind but there in the deepest, sacred sects of my soul it's been lurking, waiting for me to give it permission to rise to the fore.

Now I want to write, I need to write, but it's gone. Perhaps it was all wishful thinking. Perhaps I'm simply kidding myself that I can do that. Maybe I simply don't have anything to offer with words and I should get a job as a check out chick and face the fact that I'm not qualified to do anything.

Of course I won't, I can't not write. *chuckles* Love a double negative to make a point. It's strange because despite all the self doubt I know that my happiness is tied to my writing. When I don't write I feel like I'm not myself. I know it's just a case of working hard, focusing, and sticking with it. Words are a huge part of my life and I can't imagine facing each day if I'm not bringing them into the world.

I just have to keep reminding myself that what I have to say will make a difference. I picture my name on shelves in book stores and look forward to what I want so that the rock ahead of me right now returns to a stepping stone rather than a boulder.

Meanwhile this headache is still ripping through my head. I'm going to go and see if a bath eases tension. Odds are I'll fall asleep right after. It's almost 10PM and with the way I'm feeling right now sleep is definately a higher priority than TV.