I had lofty goals. Well, not that lofty. Pretty achievable really. They were lofty for me. My plan to write 70,000 words in 2016 has been temporarily derailed.
Let me back up.
I was doing well. I hit 5,000 words surprisingly quickly. I was having productive days, and I knew there would be days when I just couldn't be arsed, so as long as the inspiration kept flowing, I kept writing.
And then life happened.
Actually, death happened. I lost a family member unexpectedly, and the ensuing chaos engulfed me completely. For weeks, I had no time to write (aside from the endless mountains of paperwork). Even when things finally started to settle and I had time to do more than tend to the administrative side of death, I was completely drained. Of emotion, creativity, energy--everything. Until yesterday, I hadn't exercised in two weeks. I couldn't even tend to my basic health needs; how could I be expected to keep writing?
I've been back to work for several days now, and it feels like life might be getting back to normal, so I'm hoping that means I'll feel some spark of creativity again soon. Even if not, I've decided to force myself to start writing again.
It's only 200 words a day. You can do this, Rachel. One word at a time.
