Holy crud. Two years since I’ve finished “My Crazy Nerd” and announced that I’ll be writing two more stories. You’d think two years would be enough to at least finish writing one book considering that MCN took me around the same time, but nope. My chapter count isn’t even in the 10’s place for my book, “Faded.” “My Deadly Appetite,” on the other hand, has actually reached that number (with each chapter being long as heck), but I’ve been unsatisfied with it lately.
No amount of apologies will express how sorry I am for this long delay. The least I could do is explain why I’ve been absent.
“Writer’s block” is a common excuse among most writers—if not all—and one I’ve been struggling with since I typed those few chapters of my stories. Sometimes it went, sometimes it stayed, and between those ups and downs, I’ve managed to write something to move the plot forward, even if it was by a millimeter.
Then I’ll reread everything I’ve managed to write months later and rewrite a sentence, a paragraph, a chapter, until I just wanted to tear up the imaginary pages and start over. I’d like to think this turmoil in the process of writing to be relatable—Hell, I’m positive it is—but this crude thing isn’t the only factor to my snail-paced updates.
It’s life. Of course it’s life. Life makes you busy. Life distracts you from focusing on what you love—or used to love—doing. Life drains you. It drains you to the point where when you finally have the time—the interest—in doing a hobby again, you look at the blank screen, blank canvas, blank something and realize the emptiness reflects your own mind. Blank. And then you lose interest again and take a step back in hopes that your former spark will come back.