Anyway, the ennui is real boring

or, the post-book blues

I’m feeling relentlessly raar. Strange and weird and unrooted.

It’s partly having finished up a big edit with no idea if the end results are going to fly, so sitting around waiting for feedback, while at the same time I don’t have the mental energy or emotional fortitude to commit more words on new projects.

Stories all seem flat and uninteresting and I feel like I’ll never have an idea worth pursuing again.

The wisdom is just to let it go for a while and let the well refill, I know. To put my energy into other things. But mostly this just makes me feel like I’ve failed at some secret metric of what makes a writer a writer.

I suppose what I should do is focus on skating for a bit and get out of my head, which is probably what I will do. I need to recut my music to be longer for the bronze programme, which is a time-consuming task as my music editing skills are….well, not often used.

It’s very hard to accept that writing progress (and indeed, skating progress), is not a linear rise but a jagged line of highs and lows and endless-feeling plateaus.

Anyway, blegh