Just before the pandemic hit I went on a writing hiatus; my partner and I were shifting to a different business model which, due to a number of factors beyond our control, didn't work as well as what we'd been doing before it. Over the summer I was supposed to get back in the saddle, but my first project turned out to be very problematic, and I struggled with figuring out why. When I finally straightened that out and started writing I plodded. I could get the words on the page, but it took twice or three times as along. It also exhausted me.
It was really awful, which writing has never been for me. I'd spend hours staring at the screen and coming up with nothing. It wasn't writer's block -- I wanted to write, and I could write -- but it gave me zero joy. It felt like an exercise in futility. At times I also wondered if my fountain of words was finally running dry, or if I'd just gotten too old to do this gig.
The writing wasn't broken, I was. I took a long, hard look at myself and my environment, and I made some changes. I put my foot down with the family, all of whom have been leaning more and more on me this year to help them get through the pandemic while doing nothing to support me. I finally dealt with some unwarranted cruelty that had really hurt me badly, and that I hadn't wanted to face. To avoid toxic politics and the rest of the online hate fest I unplugged from the internet almost entirely. I stopped monitoring the pandemic and the election. I started reading for pleasure again. By the time I signed up to do NaNoWriMo I felt better, but I still wasn't there writing-wise.
I had some serious setbacks when we lost our dogs, but I kept plodding along. On November 17th (I still remember the day) something happened. I don't know what I can call it other than an inspiration dam burst, but it exploded in my head. All the words that had been piling up inside me flooded out onto the page. I wrote for 18 hours and produced almost 11K in one day. Not just new, but good words. The best writing I've done all year.
Since November 17th I've been writing without any problems at all. I got my mojo back. I wasn't going to take that for granted anymore, however, so I kept making changes, and refining the changes I'd already made, and I will keep doing that, too. I decided to set up a daily reward system for myself as well. I had an idea of my own I've really wanted to try out since the beginning of the year. I wrote up the outlines, and then I made a deal with myself: I could work on it every day, but first I had to complete my writing quota for work. The side project would be my daily carrot.
So far it's worked, and even better, it's kept my momentum from NaNoWriMo going. I'm back up to full speed, but more importantly, I want to write again, and I know the words are there. Writing is the great love of my life, and I think 2020 has proven that if I don't take care of myself and do what I love that I will lose it. Honestly, there is no better carrot than that.
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I don't think my emotional well has been compromised. I'm more frustrated by the inconvenience than discouraged. To that end, I focus on what needs doing. Maybe it's mean hearted, but I don't worry about everyone else, other than family and friends. If I can help them I will, but I refuse to put the weight of the whole world on my shoulders.
The world is full of people with their hands out, but very few who will put them to work to help themselves. I won't put up with that any longer.