I've been writing. Just not a lot here. I'm trying to get a project finished and I promised myself 50,000 words, but I'm only at 10,000. It's not as easy as one might think, forcing words out of one's head. Heck, it's damn near impossible here, and I'm usually fairly happy with 100 or 200 words here.
What am I thinking, taking on a project like that? It's self-imposed, which seems to make the task that much more daunting. Even worse is that I am hell-bent and determined to write when every instinct rebels at the very idea. I should be spending most of my spare, waking moments looking for work. Having a job will help me keep a roof over my head, which is more of a priority to me than most things at this moment.
If I'm not actually scanning the want-ads for viable work, at least I feel as if I'm somehow being more constructive if I write rather than watch television. I'll never make a living this way, but I do feel superior if I can say that I have done more in my day than simply trying to find something good on television.
So, what is this project, you might ask? Even though there are only one or two of you out there who may actually read this, I'm still not going to say. I don't know why I won't say. I guess it makes me feel vulnerable and selfish. How dare I think I can actually make something of myself by writing.
But if I can't get more than one person to read when I pass along my ramblings, I shouldn't worry about much. If I have fun and get something out of the action, then I suppose it's all good.
