I don’t want to write.
I can’t explain how epic that sentence is for me. How devastating. Writing has always been hard. Like weaving something from nothing hard–but it was also an addiction–a high I craved every day. But for the past year, it has been work–comparable to cleaning the toilet (which I hate).
Part of this is because of the stage of life that I’m in. My daughter is my little shadow. She’s constantly climbing on my lap and asking me questions. I’ve found that I tend to be the most productive when I can have four hours of uninterrupted time. Getting her to watch a movie for even a couple hours so I can get a few words in is nigh impossible.
I used to write at night, but honestly, I’m so tired I can’t focus on much except what’s on TV (which is in the same room). Long story short: I need an office.
I also need some motivation. I want my desire back, but I don’t know where it went.
I need to get it back if I’m going to get Witch Fall out in October.