I decided, somewhat on a whim, yesterday that I would try to do the National Novel Writing Month experiment once more. Last year was a success - well, I completed the task of writing 50,000 words in the month of November - and I am confident that I can make it two in a row by doing the same this year.
Writing, as of late, has really fallen by the wayside. I have no idea why. Writing relaxes me, lets me get rid of stress and gives my creativity the outlet that I so desperately crave. I love watching my characters come to life on the screen, and can't wait to see what they are going to get up to next. An hour of writing is probably the best hour I will spend in any given day. Yet, for some odd reason, I find myself finding excuses all the time not to write.
It is probably the simple fact that, as enjoyable as it is, writing is work. Hard work. A good writing session leaves me tired, just like a good work out session. And a great marathon session of writing, where the words just flow out onto the screen as fast as my thick fingers can kit the keys, leaves me exhausted. But, like a good workout (or good sex), it is a good kind of exhaustion, the kind where you have that afterglow of endorphin fueled euphoria.
So why don't I write more? I have no idea. But I am working on it.
Long story short, I am writing like crazy this month, so if I don't respond to your email or telephone call, I'll get back to you later. Maybe in December. See you then.