Confession Time: Writing a Book is Hard
I haven't written a single word in over a week.
I blame it on my boyfriend, who flew all the way from the U.S. of A. to visit me here in London. How can I possibly write with such a handsome distraction filling my day with sunshine and #manbuns and dad-jokes?
I blame it on Paris. After visiting the city of love, it's easy to understand why so many brilliant writers and artists migrated to the land of croissants and good coffee. What is difficult to understand is how they got any work done with all of the drinking establishments (like Les Deux Magots), eating establishments and like...the Eiffel Tower?
I blame it on the weather, which has been rather agreeable as of late. Finding my flow as rain drops patter on the windowsill and grey skies loom overhead is easy. Finding my flow when the sun shines in through my open window and creates a harsh glare on my computer screen, making it almost impossible to see the words and very easy to convince myself that I should be outside, is a whole other battle.
I blame it on this cold I have. Because when I'm sick, I am quite literally the most miserable person in the world and I'm convinced that the universe is working against me, and I descend into a vapid pit of feeling sorry for myself, entering a state where I can easily convince myself that it is entirely acceptable to spend the whole day in bed, watching Netflix and adding to the mounting pile of snotty kleenexes on the nightstand.
But most of all, I blame it on me. Because I should know better. Writing a book is hard. Putting one word after another after another and hoping it all makes sense is hard. I hear how hard it is everywhere I go. Every single day, multiple times a day, I hear how hard it is to actually make a career of it. And sometimes I let it get to me. I think, what the fuck am I doing with my life? I think, who's actually going to want to read what I have to say?
And then the sun rises. And everything is always better in the morning, isn't it? And while I still have this cold, I'm pushing through my writer's block. (Is it really a block, if I've just been avoiding my work altogether?) I'm re-lighting my fire and I'm getting back to work.
Because I've got a book to write.
Because if it were easy, we'd all be doing it...and that would sort of take all the fun out of being an author.
Because I have a workshop at Faber Academy tonight, and seeing women from all walks of life connect with my content is enough motivation to make me push on, to put one word after another after another.
So yah, writing a book is hard. Chasing your dreams is hard. Pursuing your passion is hard. Making a living out of something you love is hard. But I have to believe it will all be worth it in the end.
Inspire me: how do you find motivation to chase your dreams?