Is This All There Is?

This has been a week of poor motivation.

At times it’s just hard to see how the writing will go anywhere, how all of the time spent on it will be fruitful.

This has been a week of doubt.

The more I read what I write, the less happy I am with it. The less I think anyone else will like it. The less I think it has any real positive qualities at all.

re-writing the novel, it’s just frustrating and time consuming. The words come easily enough but I can’t help but feel that I’ve said most of them before (I have, I’m re-writing after all) and I don’t know if I’m making it better or worse. And I don’t especially trust anyone to accurately tell me.

But I keep writing anyway. I keep plugging away at it. I keep putting the words on the page and hoping for the best. I keep keeping on. And I figure pretty much every other writer on the face of the planet does the same thing. They just keep going on. That we’re really a depressing, masochistic lot and I can see why people would rather enter university life than just try to write. At least a university provides structure, provides stability. I’m still thinking of trying to get back into the whole “college” thing. Would rather be published, though. Hah.

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