I’ve been wanting to write an update post, but I never know what to say. How I feel and what I’m working on at any given moment depends on what time of day it is.

Mostly, I’ve been trying to figure out how to describe what I’m working on without sounding melodramatic and whiny. I want to chronicle this process, I want to be able to look back and see what actually writing a book looks like from the inside, but there are moments when I don’t know if I’ll ever be on the other side of things.

I’ve started over several times. I’ve doubted the entire enterprise. I know I want to be a writer more than anything, that hasn’t changed, but I just get to a point with every story, and every version of every story, where I feel… hopeless. And that point is getting earlier and stronger with every attempt.

It’s hard because I care so much. Because I want it so badly. Because I’m a perfectionist. Because I self-sabotage. And I truly do not know how to stop it. “Push through,” they say. “Stick with it.” “Don’t give up.” And I know that’s what I have to do.

So why can’t I do it?

I want to get to the other side, so I can look back at this moment and maybe help anyone feeling this torturous agony of blocked creativity. But right now I can’t see the end. I can’t work. I can’t…

Well, that was melodramatic. But, at the moment, true. Hopefully my next post will be good news. 🙂

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