I woke up at 4:30 this morning. Not on purpose, mind you, but once I was up I didn't go back to sleep because I was afraid I wouldn't wake up in time to get my son up for school. So I sat here until 6 and then went upstairs to wake up my son. I got to watch Uncle Jesse on Full House. Whoo me!
As I sit here trying to force myself NOT to go on Facebook (my newest obsession), I think about how much writing I could do during this time if I was writing. Which I'm not. Sometimes I'm not sure if I'm not writing because of everything that has happened to me or if it's because I'm just lazy or something. But then I think back to how I used to write all the time and I wish I could capture that feeling again. What made me write before?
Do I want to continue the book I already started or write something else? I've started two books, but neither one of them are holding my attention. I'm not sure where I wanted to go with them. They aren't "talking" to me.
I keep telling people the voices in my head are quiet and that is true. Usually when I'm in the middle of a book, the story is racing through my mind and I can hardly type fast enough to catch up with it. But now...I have nothing.
I tell myself to relax and not force it, but that's hard to do when writing is your passion, your dream... It's all I've ever wanted to do and it's just not working right now.
Maybe if I stop worrying I'll be able to hear the voices again. I hope so. I miss them. I miss writing. Even if it was crap, I was still telling a story.
But until then, I have my blog. I have Facebook. I have my friends. I have my family. (Those were in no particular order. I wasn't putting Facebook above my family. I swear!)
Maybe I just need to find a new kind of story...