Now if I was in a naughtier frame of mind, that title could mean this was a totally different type of post… but as I generally don’t talk sex on here, or at least not in an overt blunt manner, that’s not what that title means.
For anyone who’s been around these parts lately (or not so lately, to be more accurate), you’d have noticed a decidedly lack of activity since mid-August, with the previous couple of months being very sporadic.
Once again, I’ve become a lazy blogger and writer, and it’s becoming increasingly hard to get back into the flow of things. To get those creative juices flowing, so to speak.
Or maybe not…
Repeatedly over the past few months, I’ve had ideas for blog posts or things I’d like to write about but I just haven’t. More than anything I just keep dreading the thought of sitting down at the laptop after a full day’s work in the office in front of the computer.
My eyes (and brain) can only take so much I think.
So instead of writing I’ve been voraciously devouring books on my Kindle, gotten re-addicted to Candy Crush, and watching Netflix like it’s going out of season. So instead of writing cause I don’t want to be in front of the laptop, I’m glued to the tv, my tablet or my Kindle… not much different, right?
And all the while I’d doing that, I’m having ideas pop into my head of things to write about, or possible (fiction) stories to write, and so forth… but yet I still don’t do anything about it, and the ideas either continue to rattle around my head or get forgotten into the ether.
So what the hell has prompted me to actually sit down today and write? How’d I manage to shockingly drag my ass out of bed or off the sofa to sit in front of the laptop?
To be honest, it almost didn’t happen at all. I was all snug and warm under the duvet, with unlimited lives on Candy Crush and could have easily just stayed there all afternoon.
But what kept going through my head was snippets of a conversation I’d had with a mate at a birthday party in Soho. A mate who’s had some short stories or poetry published, and is about to have more of his work published in the next six months or so.
And as thrilled as I was to hear of how well he was doing and the palpable excitement in his voice as he explained his plans, all I could think about was ‘why isn’t this me?’.
Yeah… good old jealous selfish me couldn’t just be happy for him, but I had to think about how that’s exactly where I want to be in life. Well, not exactly. He writes poetry and children books (with a touch of horror), whereas I’m looking at LGBT fiction, with a side of M2M romance thrown in.
But from our conversation last night, I can understand why he’s doing so well at the moment – he’s working at it. He dedicates time each and every day to write a certain number of words. He makes sure he takes the time to hone his writing, and pushes himself to accomplish it even when he’s not feeling up to it.
And me? I’m just sitting here like a bump on a log wishing I could be published. And haven’t done a damn thing to get to where he is at the moment. Or more accurately, where I want to be.
I know the only person that’s going to drive me to succeed is me. Not my mate, not some mythical publisher who’s going to come out of the woodwork wanting to put my words into print.
Not even you, the lovely people who’ve taken the time out of their busy days to stay with me even when I wasn’t sure I was coming back.
I know I need to get off my ass and motivate myself to do something about what I want out of life. And if I don’t, then I only have myself to blame when I don’t succeed.
Here’s hoping this is the wake up call I need to get my butt in gear… time will tell, right?