Forget About the Things

Photo by Paxson Woelber on Unsplash

I’m beginning to realize that I’m my own worst enemy, which also happens to be the name of the song by Lit and the source of the post title. There are several reasons that this is a true statement, especially since it took me seven or eight drafts to reach this point; I still cannot decide if I want to begin by writing about what’s going on in my life or the fact that I’m completely blocked creatively.

Sometime I think that my dream of becoming a published, NYT best-selling author is nothing more than a childish fantasy. ¹ It doesn’t help matters that my muse has either retired and not trained their replacement or gone on a permanent vacation. There’s also the fact that I need someone to support me, and someone to tell me daily to get writing/ask me what happened in my novel that day. Then I need them to look at me with disappointment after I tell them I’ve not written anything. Basically, I need someone to believe in my dream as much as my Mom did. Despite being on a strict budget (single Mom with three kids), she always made sure that I had extra notebooks and pencils. She even bought an electric typewriter for the household and later made sure that there was always a working computer.

However, I’m going to end this post here, as it’s almost six o’clock in the morning and I’m starting to get a headache. Also, I will work on figuring out categories and tags sometime this week, plus get the alignment of the signature figured out as well. I hope that this post finds you having a wonderful time, and that from me is a TTFN!