I’ve just started another draft of Jumpstart. I’m not that productive with it either. I think I should have done a few pages a day because the last time I touched it was over a week ago. I could have completed it by now if I had done it that way. I’m doing more edits than I thought I would have too. I don’t know if I’m levelling up or my previous attempts were sub-par. I’m hoping to have this thing out by mid-year, but no date is set.
It’s been over six months since I last touched this story. I’m so glad that I’m getting back to it because I want to get this done by my birthday in two months time.
The edits I’m doing are mostly line and word edits. No larger things like scene or chapter arrangements. I’m still iffy about the title, but I’m not sure what else to call it.
Currently, it’s 33,000 words and when I first wrote it I felt that I have improved a lot since my previous works. But now I’m seeing some things that I don’t like. Like how I’ve written some scenes. Or that I’ve referenced events sometime after they’ve supposedly occurred in the book. I think it’s going to take the readers by surprise and question why I’ve written it like that. I think I might have to go back and fix those in later drafts.
Still no writing, but I’ve thought that maybe I could go over some already half completed works and edit what I have of them.
What is wrong with me!?
I’m a writer that doesn’t want to write. I cannot make the words appear on page and I cannot edit the words I already have. The stories are there, but I cannot rise to perform. For Christ’s sake, not two years ago I wrote a hundred thousand word novel in two months. And then I went on to other writing projects unfazed! I was a machine. I was churning out story after story, getting idea after idea, editing a novella in a few days and now . . . my brain doesn’t work. I’m jealous of my past self and of other writers. Like how dare you go out and produce books while I’m over here not.
The days pass by, they turn into weeks and then months and now it is the fourth month of my burnout. How much further along could I be if I wasn’t like this? I watch things, but I feel no joy from watching. I buy books that I would otherwise be interested in, but give up after a few chapters or not even begin.
My USB is full of stories. I’ve written so much and yet I take no sense of joy, pride or accomplishment away from it. Its new home is under my desk instead of permanently plugged in my laptop. I could lose it and not care.
I’m supposed to be a writer Goddamnit! Why am I not writing? Why am I so impotent? How long will I not be able to get it up for? WTF is wrong with me? I feel like crying, but I prevent myself from losing control. What am I even doing with all this free time that I now have? I spend it thinking that I’m wasting my time and talent and then get simultaneously pissed off and sad when night falls because what I have I accomplished? What am I doing with my life? What else do I have? How did I lose passion for my passion?
How do I even get over burnout? Do I just wait until my mind gets better? How long do I have to wait? I’ve had plenty of time off work in the four months since I gave up. My sleep is fine, my diet is mostly fine. I’m exercising. I have ample free time for everything in my life. But I’m moody and irritable. I don’t want to do anything else but write because it’s the only thing that I really like doing. And now it’s a thing that does not bring me joy.