I’ve been struggling since, well since November, really, to write consistently.
NaNoWriMo may have killed my spirit or my will, or whatever it is deep inside me that had me writing two or three posts a day back then, before November.
Whatever it was, I miss it and I want it back.
Oh, I still write, and I still post, but not like I did. Not as though my life depended on it. Not with the same constant flow that resembled the fountain of youth. Or maybe it was more like a fountain of feelings, a geyser, being released through my writing.
I’ve been wondering, on and off, trying not to put pressure on myself, what happened.
Was it the daily NaNoWriMo writing schedule that did it to me?
Was it some of the apathy that came from not posting every day yet still managing to remain part of the blogging network? The realization that I didn’t need to blog every day to stay plugged in?
Did I start worrying too much about what I was writing – second guessing myself and holding back?
Or did the writing every day finally let whatever-it-was that was bottled up inside me out? Was the sweet release that I was writing for finally released for good, more or less?
Maybe I’m just more at peace. With no great torment, maybe I have nothing to work out. They, whoever they are, do say that every good artist needs some pain and torment to create, to be inspired.
Maybe I’ve hit my stride at two or three posts a week, instead of a day.
Maybe it’s just the off-season for me.
I guess I should be happy. I mean, I’m still writing, it’s not like I’ve stopped completely.
And if I’ve slowed down because I’m content, well, that can’t be a bad thing, can it?