I looked at my blog to see what my last post was about and realized, I've let the whole summer go by without keeping up. That happens sometimes. I have a habit of letting life interrupt my writing. I wish I were as prolific as some of my friends. They can turn out a book a month, while my current pace is one a year.
I wish I didn't judge myself against other writers, but I think that is human nature. We start looking at others to inspire ourselves, and then allow their accomplishments to sink our own ambitions instead of driving us to work harder.
Summer is almost gone, and I've written very little since May. Sure I've edited a couple of books for friends, and we've had three family members pass away, but nothing new on paper for several weeks. In short, I feel empty.
The people are still in my head, the stories are still percolating but opening the file never seems to happen. Even now, as I complain about me I'm watching the Olympics and surfing You Tube. The icon for my word processor mocks me every time I stare at the screen.
Am I being too hard on myself? After all it's hard to write in the summer, what with the longer days making everyone miserable. Or am I letting dissatisfaction in other areas of my life to take control. Maybe my mid-life crisis is starting now, since people are living longer it's a thought.
One I thing I do know is I cannot force myself to write. The children do not like to be forced. The last time that happened, I killed off one of my favorite characters. I buried that chapter and promised everyone I'd never fail them again. But here I go, failing.
Everyone has a pity party once in a while, and this appears to be mine. I promise not to let it last too long. There's the promo to gear up for my next release - "Welcome to the Family", and sequels to write and new characters to explore.
I just think I'll wait until the temps drop below 80.
