Lately, I’ve been struggling to stay in command of my feelings. From moment to moment, I don’t know what mood is going to overcome me: one moment I will be calm, the next I will be in tears, in the next wound tight with agitation, in the next crushed beneath my own frustration.

My muses have also, lately, been particularly reticent.

I can’t help but think that the two struggles are related.

At the moment I have plenty of projects requiring my creative attention: my focus is divided between the screenplay that I’ve been hired to write and with the missing chapter of my novel which has utterly scuttled my progress towards finishing the draft by the end of the year. Both of these projects have been further derailed by the sudden, melodramatic divorce between my laptop and its battery: both of which still work but refuse to work with each other meaning that I can no longer carry said laptop on the bus. You know: the place where I do all my work. I’ve been striving to make progress by writing by hand and then transcribing it later when I get home, which works great until the laptop decides to shut down without warning, losing all work for the last twenty minutes. Which it has already done.

So progress has been slow. The muses have been miserly. My mood has been chaotic.

I feel certain that if I can make some measurable progress on just one of my writing projects that I’ll be able to throw all my attention into that creative world instead of chasing intrusive thoughts and insecurities around my brain on this mood-mill. All it will take is a toe hold: just one stroke of inspiration to light up the circuits. Or, barring that, a faint glow of concentration to illuminate where the circuits should be. Or, barring that, a page count of utterly uninspired words that show at least as much progress as a hundred monkeys at a hundred keyboards manifesting creativity out of statistical probability.

One way or another, progress will be made.

~ by Gwydhar Gebien on October 24, 2018.

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