Since the death of my Mum, I’ve had to come to terms with not just her loss. But the loss of my desire to write as well.
I knew with her being unwell, I wasn’t going to be able to write anywhere near as much as my output last year. Once she passed, my writing just nosedived into oblivion.
It appears that despite not finishing much, I HAVE been writing.
Lots of outlines, frameworks, partial stories.
I just went through what I’ve been calling “a small pile of ideas” for the last few months. Turns out it was a whole lot more than that. It wasn’t small, for starters.
I didn’t count what was in it. I didn’t dare.
At a rough guess I’d say there were at least 30 pieces in there. And that was without counting the things I saw folded inside a Notepad as well.
So maybe I didn’t lose the love, not entirely. Maybe I shunted my focus into a different direction.
There’s a lot there that can easily be finished. A lot that can easily expanded into actual stories too.
There’s a lot.
So I have been writing. Just not the way I was used to.
It’s going to take a long time to find the path back to a proper writing routine. I don’t know how long that path is.
My general feeling is no one human being will ever live long enough to finish all the things I’ve got started there. I’ll just have to try chipping my way through.
raywriteswrongs 