Older, Wiser, ?
I wouldn’t say that I’ve become disenchanted with writing, but I have entered a state of apathy towards it.
Even that isn’t quite fair. I still enjoy writing, just not the form of it that people think I should be focused on. I have not been in a period of creative fallow, but I will admit to making no progress whatsoever with further book projects. I don’t know if it’s related to the pathetic number of people who bothered to read my first book, but I feel little pulling me towards writing long-form works at the moment.
I have, however, been turning out shorter works with relative consistency. I suppose I always thought of myself more as a musician than an actual author, and spending the summer working on a project for someone else in this arena has more or less proven the point to me again. There’s something about the instant gratification that comes along with being able to have a roughly finished product in less than an hour that appeals to the impatience in me.
That’s not to say that I’m giving up, because I’m not. As fall approaches and the weather turns, I’m going to force myself to get the draft of the second book done and ready to put out (even if I have to do it myself), and I would like to spend the winter writing the only other idea I have in my head. It might take some encouragement to get myself in gear to actually do it, but I have enough time that I should be able to manage it.
On another note: the birthday that I was dreading was both better and worse than I expected it to be. It was good because nothing horrible happened, but it was bad because yet again this year the number of friends who remembered and said anything was less than it should have been, and less than it was last year.
I’ve said it before, but I think I need to find some new friends. Seriously.
cmcolavito
