After starting off with a load of enthusiasm, this week has not been the best for me in terms of productivity. Netflix is partly to blame. The horrible weather is completely uninspiring too and the only thing I have wanted to do is curl up in a warm place and escape into a published novel (I blame you Penguin for sending me JoJo Moyes’ new book. Only kidding. I love you.)
I have this conversation inside my head a lot. It usually begins with me asking myself, can I be a writer if I’m not writing anything? I have been trying to plan my book (although I’ve not even managed a lot of that this week – work does tend to get in the way sometimes.) However, unless you count seven hundred and fifty words, I have not written a lot.
I can’t help but feel guilty about my lack of productivity. This book is not going to write itself after all. Being hard on myself isn’t going to help me in the long run though.
I was talking to a friend of mine the other day (she has worked in publishing,) and I asked her this question of being able to call myself a writer. Without hesitation, she said yes. It got me thinking.
Although I am not physically sat down writing my book, I constantly think about it. As I drive, I am thinking about my characters. Whilst I am walking, I am thinking about plot. Whilst going about my day, I am working through my book and that counts too – as long as it eventually goes down on paper that is. Yes, Laura, you will eventually need to get over being a scaredy cat and write this book.
Until next week writing people….
Novel Kicks is a blog for story tellers and book lovers.