I must tell…

I have a confession to make

 

Time for a truth bomb folks.

I, the almighty, have run out of stamina.

There is no more steam.

Running on E.

Exhausted my resources.

The juices stopped flowing.

 

You get the point.  I am coming up on the 1 year anniversary of taking on a 6 book ghostwriting contract (Stay tuned for that release btw.  Love ya. Kisses) and I have 2 books done. TWO. I have spent countless hours chugging away at this damned project, just trying to get through it, to see it to the end.  But here I am, stuck. I think the product is not my best, but it is too late to turn around and start fresh. So instead, I get to stick pins and needles into my brain and try to pull out a good product that I am not even 100% confident in.  At first I thought “pfft, of course I can write a book in a month, I do it for nano every year.” Like this was going to be some really satisfying piece of cake, but here I am trying to pull things from the depths of my mind, hoping for a miracle of some sort.  I have read the story 3 times, have changed/added countless things, and yet I still have the worst case of artists-hate-their-work going on.

Not to mention, this post is the first one I have focused on in a few days (obviously. Sorry).

In all honesty this is a distraction from me having to do any actual work at the moment because I am just stuck.

 

But this happens to all of us at some point.  You hit a wall and you don’t know whether to smash it down, slide down it, or just stay there until someone helps peel you off.

Sometimes you get so wrapped up in the solid projects that they become stale and eventually you lose sight of it entirely.

It’s a helpless feeling, like you will never get your spark back, but some nagging old grandmother sitting in the back of your head is telling you that YES, you will come back to the dark side and crank out more work.  

But in the meantime, you stew in the idea that you are not actually doing anything productive.

It is 2:40am, I am sitting in my office staring at my laptop and Wanda (My fish.  She killed Cosmo in a fit of marital rage), and hoping that some spark will come back.

This post helped some, if I am being honest.  My heart has grown attuned to the silent sounds of my fingers smashing the keys just behind the vibration of the music playing in my ears.  

So, what you are really reading is just words that make the sounds that get my focus in motion.  Okay, now go back and read it much slower, it will make sense eventually. 

Anyways, thanks for staying tuned this long.

 

Ya’ll are great, every last one of you.

Except you Jerry.  Fuck you.

I don’t know anyone named Jeremy I’m sorry.

 

-the intoxicated-by-the-night, Courtney

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