I feel so frustrated lately. Writing comes easily to me; formatting e-book versions of my work does not. After several infuriating rounds of adjustments, I settled for a mediocre version of my print book. I added a note to the reader, letting them know that the ebook pales in comparison to the print, but I suppose that is all I can do for now. It just irritates me so much. I hate to submit my work in any form that is less than I intended.
Aside from that, I feel the urge to write and create; however, the frustration of late has impacted my writing negatively. It is like I get all blocked up. Yes, I am writing this blog post, but that is just me bitching to whomever reads this. It isn’t the same as creating a poem or story. At least, not for me. I know there are greater things in this world about which to fret, but this is my blog so I’ll cry if I want to. (I don’t actually cry, though. I don’t know how to do that. I just cuss a lot.)
We’re smack dab in the heart of spooky season, and I have barely done anything even remotely spooky. I feel kind of dead inside this year, no pun intended. It’s my favorite time of year, yet I feel void of any creative spark. This sucks. My head is full, but my hands can’t seem to translate it to the page. I’m worried I may be headed for another depressive episode. I want to do many of the things, but have no motivation to do any of the things. I simply sit and waste away. I constantly feel like I have no time for anything, but I have more free time now than I ever have. It makes no sense. Goddamn you, brain. Stop doing this to me.
I just want to scream. I want to pound my fists against something. And I want to sit perfectly still and say nothing. All at the same time. Does anyone else ever feel this way? I can’t be the only one. It wouldn’t bother me so badly except that I still have two more books to revise and republish. That feels like it is holding me back from creating anything new. I must get these done first. UGH!!!! I hate this!
Alright, alright. Enough whining. It doesn’t change anything. I do feel a tad bit better, though. I suppose venting is therapeutic. I need to prod forward and just fake a goddamn smile until my real one comes back.
Until next time…
