When you just don't want to be a writer. When you just don't want to have books and short stories out that leave others wanting more from you...expecting more from you.
When you just don't want to expect more from yourself.
I'm in one of these moments right now.
Last night, I had a rush of euphoria - everything I wrote just flowed, the scene came together, building and building toward the inevitable crescendo that would crash land with a collective gasp from every reader across the globe once they reached it - the type of thing that would propel you to immediately turn the page and read more. Yeah, that kind of flow.
But due to utter exhaustion, I left it off at a point just before the big reveal was to take place, and now upon waking, I'm considering leaving the big crescendo to the beginning of the next chapter - my brain doesn't want to work.
It just doesn't want to write right now.
But my hands do.
My gut does.
So I've grabbed a cup of tea, sipped it obediently, waiting for my mind to obey my hands. I can force something, I can push this great reveal to happen but it won't be a great reveal will it? Don't these things just happen, a rare rush of creative juices flowing, something that cannot be trapped in a glass and contained for later consumption?
Until that point comes, I guess I'll just be stuck in this mode of lethargic, not-complete-indifference-but-not-enthusiasm-either, just-don't-want-to-write anything at all-but-feeling-really-strongly-that-she-should. At this precise moment.
When I think of the many people that want to read more of me, and the complete stall in my writing, it makes me rather upset that I placed this responsibility upon myself in the first place.
I wrote a story when I was sixteen. I guess my life was no longer my own the moment I shared it with others, was it?
But there's an upside to deadlines, there's an upside to fans, there's an upside to expecting more from yourself and having others expect more from you...
It pushes you to get it all done regardless of how you feel.