I’m officially giving myself at least two weeks off from writing.
I’m all about goals and deadlines, so making it official is important for me. Every time I failed to make my page quota last week I was depressed. As the week went on, it had gotten ridiculous.
I wrote a bit about what was happening in my last post. I’d find myself staring at the screen for long periods of time, then I’d write a paragraph – the words flowing smoothly with an occasional pothole – but then after a paragraph or sometimes a few sentences, I’d become the staring-at-the-computer girl again.
It was happening at work, too. A ten minute project would take thirty minutes because I’d stop to daydream. Although dreaming is not an accurate term because when I came out of it I had no idea what was going on in my mind during those unproductive moments.
It was after a few emails with Ella, general frustration at my lack of writing progress, and some other weird moments (see below) that I decided if my brain was going to take a va-cay, then I had no other option but to hop on board and hope we were traveling to some place warm, because Michigan weather is suuucking right now.
These other moments seem to be unrelated and are a bit unexplainable as to why they were occurring or even how they were occurring, but I will do my writer best to give you the full story.
Possibly unrelated and unexplainable event number one: Brief, but not brief enough, moments of anxiety/fear/nervousness. I was at work typing along –la, la, la—then BAM, my stomach would whirl with butterflies, my breathing increased, my body zinged with nerves. About what, I have no freakin’ clue. These moments would last about ten minutes.
Possibly unrelated and unexplainable event number two: My sense of smell had increased. This was as unwelcome as the nerves. One particular day last week I was walking around my front room, sniffing, and asking Husband and Bubbles, “Don’t you smell that? Where is it coming from?” At that time I had a passing thought: Perhaps I had the werewolf gene and for some reason it had been dormant for the past thirty odd years and was suddenly unleashing . . . I’m going to borrow Ella’s phraseology and say, it’s creativity, not paranoia (or mental illness), readers. Please don’t call the white coats, yet. 🙂
It was the last event (I never did find out what smelled like dirty socks) that made it easier to say goodbye to Lucas and Callie for a little while. I did send my muse a bouquet of mental flowers with a short note.
I love you so much. In honor of your hard work, I’m giving you the next two weeks off. Please don’t even think about worrying! It will be hard, but I will do my best to write without you.
I’m not sure if this ploy will work, but I’m keeping my fingers crossed that he doesn’t go postal when I get back.
All joking and (mental illness) aside, this break is important, not just for me, but for Lucas and Callie. Although a part of me is cringing at the lost writing time and the non-changing word count, I have to take care of me before I can take care of any of my characters.