Starting today, I have ten weeks left in which to finish fifteen stories if I hope to meet the goal I set on July 31st of 2017. Whether it’s fighting sickness, familial and work obligations, or general lethargy, the enemy is around every corner (I feel a little out of sorts referring to family as the enemy, but the writing doesn’t care…).
Excuses, man. They always seem legitimate, and sometimes they are. That’s just a part of their tricky arsenal. But more often than not, excuses is all they are.
So what to do? In some dusty corner of my brain, I hear a crackly signal playing like an old radio with poor reception. A not-so-distant memory of something I’d heard a couple of years ago.
So what’s the good?
The reminder that words are just words. Writing is just writing. Am I going to let myself be stopped by the critical voice in my head saying that I can’t do this? What about all of those people that have taken on much greater challenges in life with so much more at stake? What about the critical voice that told me that I was making a big mistake by putting yet another novel aside to focus on short stories? You know, that voice who’s now 37-stories old?
Time to get up. Dust off. Reload. Recalibrate. Re-engage. Go out on the attack.
Superhero mode, engage.