The North looms once again in my very near future.
Winter brings a lot of things with it.
It brings snow, ice, and cold winds. It brings holidays, travel, gift-giving, and an overabundance of consumerism. And, for me, it brings long lulls between truly rewarding writing sessions.
I’ve felt a general lack of storytelling overall in the past month or so. Even casual exchanges have fallen away. I’m out of the habit of writing letters and even interesting emails to friends. Godslayer remains the story I most want to give the once-over to, yet all I’ve been able to muster is a few notes in my new writing notebook, jotted down during a lunch break so as not to forget them.
I have so much I need to do. I need to get back on track with exercise. I need to keep my attentions keen in certain areas. I need to stay on top of what’s going on with the dayjob. But most of all, I need to write more.
I know all the words already. Not the words I need to write, necessarily, but the words I need to hear to make me write again. The words won’t write themselves. You never get back the time you waste. You should be spending this time writing. Why aren’t you writing? Doesn’t the world need your art? ART HARDER, MOTHERFUCKER!
These are all things I know. Things that gnaw at me. And I’m going to get myself back on the right path.
I’d do it sooner if I weren’t so damn tired all of the time.