I shelved my 50,000 word work-in-progress almost two months ago. Since then I have started about five other novels. Each new work has ended at about 2,000 words when I decided I hated it. Not only did I hate the words I wrote for novels, I also hated every post I typed to Facebook, and every tweet I tweeted on Twitter. Nothing felt right. I wanted to break up with words entirely.
I hoped those feelings would turn out to be a phase. I tried not to rush it away. I tried not to freak out about it. Adding anxiety on top of depression was not going to help me write again.
But I have finally started a project that I look forward to writing. I have almost 4,000 words and they feel right. The storyline is just the right blend of comfort zone and challenge. I read over what I have so far and am happy with it. *Happy!* That has been a rare emotion lately when it comes to my work.
I have even found myself working today, a Saturday when my family is surrounding me with distractions. I am still able to work through a bit of chaos and feel good about the outcome.
Hopefully, this will last. But either way, I plan to make the most of it while I’m in it.