I’m so frustrated right now I could [insert action indicating frustration here]. June was a bad writing month. I did get some good writing, but it was sporadic and scattered. What I’m discovering is that if I don’t write regularly, I lose the thought threads that bind the larger story. It feels impossible to sit down after three weeks away and do anything constructive in 30 minutes. Hell, doing anything constructive in 30 minutes seems impossible anyway, so I don’t know why I bothered.
I just feel pissed at myself. Pissed because I let a month slip away and the feelings of urgency, of “this needs to be in the world NOW!” are crowding out all my other thoughts. Even when I schedule out writing time, I’m lucky if I can get a good 60-90 minutes, which seems so little. When I read about artists and writers who spend hours and hours daily working, working, working, I feel small and cowardly – as if I’m not making a big enough sacrifice for my art.
I imagine I’m not the only one who feels like this, though. Those of us who have day jobs, families, obligations, etc etc, probably struggle with this to some degree, but it sucks. I can feel this piece of work trying desperately to get out, and I’m just not doing it the service it deserves today.