That seems to be my writing theme this month. And in the morning…you will WAFFLE!!! It never seems to change. Maybe it’s because there’s so much going on. I don’t know. But I’ve waffled.
Will I write the medieval?
Will I write one of the male/male books? Which one?
Will I work on the menage?
All of them are due around the same time so they all deserve attention. And there’s more.
Will I roll out my new male/male name?
Will I change the heat level of what I write?
Will I keep doing menage and BDSM?
Will I stop doing them?
Would people care?
That’s not “woe is me”. That’s career planning. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth my head goes. Clarity and direction aren’t my strong suits right now. Even as far as:
Should I write in my office?
Should I write in the living room?
Should I go away and write?
Perhaps I should read a book. Have I done too little research? Or have I done the perfect amount?
Can you hear the primal scream that’s slowly building in my throat?
Sometimes, I feel like I’m a lone boater in a circular ship, paddling madly in circles through a mire of mud. Waffling gets you nowhere fast. Waffling gets you nowhere slowly, even. It just gets you nowhere…
I get in these wafflely ways from time to time. It’s usually when I have too much going on. When I do, there’s only one thing that can be done. I have to step away, meditate and draw things out on paper. It’s like they always teach you in school: break things down into steps.
Sometimes, when I do that–okay, really, ALWAYS when I do that–I’ll end up doing the easiest project first. It might not be the most pressing thing, but it’ll get done first because once it’s done, it’s off my plate. Then I’ll knock off the next easiest thing, and so on.
Looking at my waffle-age list, you might wonder how I’d knock them off. Well, most of them I won’t. They’re not tasks; they’re symptoms. When I waffle, I start second guessing everything. Strangely, the only thing that remains strong and un-second guessed is the writing itself–when I can wade through the mire to get to it.
It’s all part of the writing life. I envy writers who know what they’re going to do all the time. They have the exact determination and precision of a surgeon. No kidding, I really do admire that lot of people.
Now…would I trade my life for theirs? No. No way. I’m thankful for what I have…
Even if it means waffles every morning.