After about a week of real (?) writing, I've been slacking off the last week. I feel a little guilty, naturally.
All the same, I'm actually actively thinking about my writing. I'm even all but settling down and doing it. That's a pretty tasty bit of progress, frankly.
I used to be so bad about even remembering I'm supposed to be a writer, and feel shamed and exposed when I did. Now I've actually got a plan, prospects, a project not only worth working on, but *workable*. I just need to work on it, and I'm pretty sure I can if I gave myself a moment to.
It's a nice feeling, and a nice change of pace. I hope I can learn to feel that way about other projects in my life--at the least, learn to move past the abject terror, dread, and certainty of failure that's so often hung me up before.
Anyway, I'm pretty upbeat about the story. That is to say--only worrying a *little*. This Friday, I'm meeting with my cousin to discuss a literary opportunity. Also, hopefully, have us a lovely chat. Either way, should be plenty exciting.
Meanwhile, tonight I'm stuck at the store doing inventory till some unGodly hour. I should probably get my ass some kind of woke up before that starts, or this could be mighty unpleasant.
Ah well, c'est la vie or some shit.
Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry
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