I’m finding it difficult to write anything outside of school work. My novel sits there, undone. I’d planned to have it published on my deceased son’s birthday. It’s not and I’m struggling.
Writing has always been an escape for me, but a pleasant one. It’s one of the ways I process things and work through them. I love writing this book — except when I don’t.
So why am I sitting here about two weeks after deciding the book wasn’t going to be published on the 25th, and I haven’t written a word sense?
My novel is emotionally draining. I’m terrified I’m going to end up where I was about three months ago when my brain shut down because I was so overwhelmed.
I’ll get there.