I haven’t done much writing this week as far as my WIP (tentatively titled Preying On Time) goes. This is not due to writers’ block as much as that may appear to be the case.
I can write if I really want to, but this week has been one of those periods where instead of soaring through the sky, painting my ideas on clouds and rejoicing in a downpour of creativity, I have been hovering aimlessly with no real enthusiasm for anything in particular. Occasionally I get these patches of restlessness. They don’t shift until they want to shift, but they usually don’t last too long.
A lot of the time they are prolonged by outside influences. Sometimes that can be nagging parents who suggest I give up because I’ll never make it or tell me I should have written a masterpiece already and be published. All attempts to explain the difficulties with getting traditionally published fall on deaf ears.
And deaf ears are also what I assume my brother, Master Berserker, has because when I feel like the hovering period is beginning to lift and try to squeeze back into writing and being productive… my mind is once again thrown off kilter by his unapologetic music shaking the walls of my room.
Anyway, today I am going to endeavour to get some writing done on the WIP. Then, hopefully, you’ll see the word count on the left alter to a nice new number.
Nevertheless, I still have tonnes of chores to be getting on with. Don’t you just hate chores eating into your time? I have to tidy up and then sort things for dinner. As we all know, I’m secretly the one who runs this household. It’s not my parents. I’m always the one running around like a skivvy, doing all the necessary jobs around the house and looking after the various dogs and cats we have.
Eventually I’ll get to the stage where I can move out. I’m kind of counting on that.
At some point in the future I’ll be able to run my own house instead of someone else’s. That sounds dreadfully like I want to be a housewife, doesn’t it? I assure you that I don’t, but I’d be happier cleaning up my own messes than the mess my parents and Master Berserker make. And I wouldn’t have to cook for fussy eaters or endure another one of my brother’s tantrums when he wants/doesn’t want something.
The trouble is getting there, though. One day I will get there, but financially it’s probably going to take me a long while. I guess I’ll just have to lay my impatience aside and wait.
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