One week and one day to complete a story which I’ve not yet begun. Perhaps the deadline will force me out of my languor.
I thought, today, about how I’ve come to miss school. I hated the pettiness and the busy-seeming work. I loathed the clique-ish social collections and bemoaned the lack of classes. I regret not having learned more about the publishing world. At the time, I chaffed at deadlines. At least that last one I now somewhat miss.
I’ve written little, lately. I’ve written almost nothing for myself and have come to one of what I’ve been told are common periods in which one looses faith in his art. I’ve also been told the only solution is to keeping working, whether or not the feeling dissipates.
I have a self-imposed deadline of september 30th. I have no idea of what I’ll write or if it will be any good, but for my own sanity I’ll sketch, craft, and finish something by the 29th and turn in whatever I have on the 30th.
If I feel no better, there’s another after that.
And one after that.