It’s Wednesday night, and I’m sitting in my “writing” Starbucks. Michael isn’t here yet, which is a little unusual. He usually makes it here before I do. Maybe he’ll skip out this evening. He had a big performance this last weekend in Folsom, and may still be recovering. Or, since he’s having to move soon, maybe he’s dealing with finding a new place to live, or getting his things in order.
I’ve got my laptop open, my pitifully short novel open in Word, and my blog editor open, so that I can write this entry and prime the pump on my writing engine. I’m not sure how effective it will be. I’m tired. I worked really late on Monday, late on Tuesday, and Melissa and I stayed up too late last night. Additionally, the kind of work I’ve been doing lately is complicated.
This is the part of my writing hobby that is “work.” It’s still fun, and I’m excited about jumping into a new project in November. I don’t regret working on my novel, or making these blog posts. I’m doing what I want to do, and I’m really happy with the writing that I’m doing. But nights like this remind me why so many people try and fail. The only thing that’s going to get me through to the end of this blog post, and then the end of a couple of chapters in my novel, is dedication and willpower.
Sometimes I don’t have enough fuel left in me to push through the hard stuff and get work done. Tonight, I do. I just have to write one sentence at a time.