Between my confession of workaholism and my lack of true time management skills, I have to consider whether I am still an aspiring writer.
I know the quote that says there is no such thing as an aspiring writer. Writers write. Therefore, there are no aspiring writers, just those who write or don’t write. When I think about that, I find myself thinking of myself as a non-writer. I procrastinate until the deadline is looming so close I can see the fine print almost stamped on my forehead.
As I write this, I have edits which I have had for a month I have not completed. I know they need to get done. I know they are important. I cannot make myself open the file and deal with them. I have an audiobook I’m supposed to be finish which is still staring at me.
Am I still aspiring? Am I professional in this, knowing that I’m not doing the work. It hurts to write that. I’m afraid of losing things and stuff falling through the cracks. I haven’t written in days. I need to. I want to. I stare at the manuscript and cannot make it go forward. “You know how much braining it takes to make words go,” my thoughts ask. Do you know how stressed you are right now? I wanna fight through the stress. I wanna go forward anyway, but right now I don’t think I can. Maybe I’m not aspiring but I am definitely feeling like a failure.
That’s where I am right now. One step away from giving up at times, but I know I’m not going to. I’m not an aspiring writer. I’m not aspiring. I’m something more. Maybe not much more but something beyond aspiring. I will continue.