Yesterday, I decided that today would be the day to end the writing break. So naturally I’ve spent the evening thinking up various reasons why I shouldn’t. There’s the obvious excuses: I’m tired; I don’t feel very inspired today; NaNoWriMo doesn’t start for another 11 days and then there’s some more obviously stupid ones: I can’t decide whether I should use my laptop or go back to pen and paper; it’s too late for a cup of tea and I can’t write without tea; I need to find the perfect font, first, if I’m using my laptop and if I use my laptop I need to charge it up so I can type in bed. My mind isn’t really trying that hard to think of good reasons – it’s just tossing up any old shit into my consciousness – probably because I know what’s going on. I’m scared.
I’m scared that I won’t be able to or that I’ll force out some shit just so I’ve written something. Most of all I’m scared that Cathy won’t talk to me. That she’s gone. Died in my imagination and I’ll never get her back.
I don’t want to write because I don’t want to find out that I’ve lost her.
I’d decided on today because I thought it was 10 days before NaNo and that seemed like a good time to start writing. I’d have 10 days to warm up and I had a plan around that: day 1: 100 words, day 2: 200, day 3: 300, etc, etc. I’d train myself up to the 1000 words a day I’ll need to do to achieve my goal of 30,000. When I saw that today there were 11 days to go, I felt relief. Like I’d been let off the hook.
But I haven’t. Or rather, I haven’t let myself off. Because I’m ready, I’ve been ready for a while, it’s just that now I’m here, about to do it, it’s scary. I’ve got cold feet. But sometimes, you’ve just got to woman up and look over the edge and jump.
So that’s what I’m going to do.