Autumn is coming.
Which is strange when I’ve only just found out it’s summer!. Yes I know we had a week long heatwave but apart from that the temperature has been below normal for the time of year and it’s never really felt like you will find periods of uninterrupted sunshine.
And I’m feeling blue.
I’ve not achieved anything this year this far. Writing aside I am angry that once again time passes me by and I lack the motivation to get off my arse and are something of my life.
It’s easy to blame Covid and lockdowns and in fairness to both them and me, they have rather dampened my appetite for so many things. There seems to be more effort required these days and the rewards are rarely worth that effort.
I look about me and know we should be actively looking to move. Then I realise greed and selfishness has pushed house prices up so far that even if we moved, areas we could afford six months ago are now bordering on being out of reach. And with each disappointment comes that sinking feeling that we may be stuck here for even longer.
Work continues to frustrate. Changes are mooted and then discarded, priorities change, allies resign and the uncertainty I feel about the future just grows and grows. People I speak with feel unloved and unsupported and whenever a reward is given it seems like such an afterthought rather than something positive and inspiring.
My writing continues and that also frustrates. The community on Twitter is full of those who say they will follow for a follow but won’t or don’t but just want you to inflate their numbers or don’t answer questions or, when you seek beta readers, with few exceptions, probably miss your tweet amongst those out out by their million followers.
I’m not happy with my writing. I know what I want to write but the translation to page is so difficult. Great in my head, sloppy in my fingers. Too much dialogue? No enough dialogue? Too many characters I do nothing with? Not enough descriptions of characters? Or locations? Fighting scenes realistic? Or fanciful nonsense?. Over ambitious or reining myself in and not actually exploring what I could explore?.
That’s the problem. So many questions about my writing leave me conflicted about it. I introduce characters and then don’t use them in the way I envisage. I forget about characters and then find I don’t have a place for them. I imagine epic but end up with epic failure.
It’s unfocused. It’s all in my head and when I read some of it this morning I realised I had spelled one character three different ways, each time convincing myself I had the right spelling. That’s the danger of not having thought things through and planned meticulously.
So that’s dragged me down a bit. Seeing some of the gorgeous settings and offices my fellow writers have only makes me feel more of a failure. How can I write well on a tray balanced on my lap?. Silly I know but I can’t help feel I’d write better in a proper space. But spaces require money and houses with spaces to have spaces in..and that’s not something happening soon.
So that’s today’s moan, an end of Summer moan, a pre-Autumn moan, a pre-emptive strike on Autumn.
Wherever you are, whatever you’re doing, I hope life is treating you well.
Until next time (whenever that is).
PiecesOfPatrick 