I have plenty of excuses — illness, real, uncomfortable, starting last week and a treatment course that will last a month. A new-ish job. A disagreement with my local NaNo write-in host (who shall remain nameless.) But the truth is that I’ve let myself, one more time, lose what little writing discipline I had.
I wish the hell it wasn’t a struggle every single damned day to just sit down and write. It shouldn’t be — I always feel better when I get some writing done. But it is.
I need to accept the fact that writing daily is not going to become automatic. Hell, I have to have a reminder set to remember to brush my teeth every day — and I still sometimes forget. Once something gets into my reminder system somewhere, it usually gets done — but writing is hard. Harder to remember than brushing my teeth. Harder to make a priority in my day than doing the dishes. My mind feels dead and all my story ideas lame.
So I’m doomed to write a lame story this year. I’ll start putting words on the page. Maybe after a while it won’t be so lame.