I wrote a book a while ago. I think many of you know this. It’s called 22 Scars, and it’s about a young girl and her struggles with depression and self-harm. I actually self-published it at the end of 2017, and I’m pleased with its success so far, in which it’s amassed nearly 100 reviews on Goodreads with a rating of 3.6/5, and it’s done even better over on Amazon.
However, a writer’s life isn’t usually defined by a single novel, and I’ve been trying to work on a second book since the beginning of the year.
I’ve not got very far.
Now, in fairness, 22 Scars – from conception to publication – took me 12 years. I really hope my follow-up novel, The Broken, doesn’t take another 12.
But it’s a sad state of affairs I’m in, really, because I spend most of my days slumbering, drinking, and working. I don’t frequently blog anymore, I don’t really write stories, and I certainly haven’t written anything for The Broken in a good few months.
I started with the best of intentions in January to have my second novel published by October or November of this year. I figured if I spent six months writing it (should have been completed by June, in that case), a few months editing it and another month having it professionally polished, I’d be on time.
Now I think I’ll be lucky if I even finish the novel by next year.
I desperately need motivation. And the funny thing is, I have some as it is; as much as I want to write a new book, and as much as I really like the concept and storyline (what I’ve fleshed out so far, anyway) of The Broken, I also have people – real people – who’ve read 22 Scars and simply adored it. I even had one review point out they are ‘literally dying to read anything else’ I write.
So why is it so difficult? Why is it so hard to just get off my ass and write? I already know I’m not a believer in inspiration; if you wait for the right mood to write, you’ll literally never write anything. Writing is about powering through, no matter what, and simply getting freaking words down on paper, because otherwise you don’t have anything to edit; nothing to polish. (They say you can’t polish a turd, but you really can’t polish nothing at all.)
I want to make a new commitment, but I’m afraid. I’m scared that as soon as I do, I’ll relapse into my old habits, and nothing will be accomplished.
But of course, if I don’t try … then I’m nowhere better anyway.
So here’s to trying – and I’ll try to update you all on my progress with The Broken as it comes … hopefully sooner rather than later!