Because for some reason I feel like I should write a book in three months. Get it published within a year, and see my name in lights within two.
No doubt about it, these are unrealistic expectations.
But I've seen writers do it! I've seen so many talented people jump out of the time boat and into reality.
I've seen their names in lights, on billboards, and in screens.
They've done it. I've even written about it here on my blog. But what about me? What's my problem, and why am I stuck on this boat where the water never ends, I'm sea sick, and the only way out is under?
I get inspired and I write, and write, and write, until nothing. I'm drained.
My good words, the voices in my head, it mutes at once. Something must be wrong with me, I think.
And then I edit, erase, and rewrite. And I edit, erase, and rewrite. And I'm stuck. I'm STUCK.
I can't get off the freaking boat. My words are my worst enemy. They keep me where they want me. They sink me.
But . . . not really. I'm still afloat. In this time boat.
And in my moment of frustration, at the sweat of my brow, I realize something grand: real writing takes time.
I mean, hello, I'm at sea. Each time the sun rises and sets it inspires me. That fireball in the sky gives life. It breaths words into my insides, and I'm able to write.
And when I write, it's euphoric.
It's tingly, and warm, and filling.
I savor those words in my mouth, for every little bit counts. And I want more. I want SO MUCH more! And I binge on every single word.
I feel. My words let me feel.
It is, indeed, my best high.
Yes. I'm addicted. "I'm addicted," I say.
Perhaps, that's why I can't leave this time boat anyway . . .
The time it took to write this: I lost track after an hour.
I think I'll go get some tea now.
Happy New Year!