Pressure...

So where am I? Hmm. It’s hard to admit this but I haven’t worked on the novel. Despite some clever feedback last week and getting excited about a new way to approach the story, I just didn’t/couldn’t write. Lately, it’s difficult to face the page and work on this piece. Good friends keep giving me feedback, advice, book recommendations, blogs, writer’s resources, news sources and that is all well and good but at the end of the day I’ve just hit a roadblock. It’s disconcerting.

I feel PRESSURE!

It's all self-inflicted. Pressure to work on it and finish it in a timely manner. I’ve been working on this novel for the past 9 months. I get the irony…the story is gestating. And the pressure of not being a good enough writer to finish this project. Crazy-making I know but that is where I am with it. How do I let go enough and really believe that if this is the crappiest piece of work I’ve ever written then it’s a good learning experience? I want this story to be excellent but I’m holding on too tight to that expectation and there is no room for the story to breathe. I mean how could it? I have a strangle hold around its puny little neck wanting the words to come out faster but no space for the words to vocalize. Even as I write these words, I can feel my throat constrict and my neck muscles tighten up. Yes, it’s that visceral and physical for me.

* Deep breath *

I have to remember to breathe. I find myself hardly breathing these days. At least, I’m noticing the fact that I’m holding my breath a lot. I’ve started taking yoga classes again and good god, I am so inflexible that I feel like I’m going to pop a limb out of a socket as I try to relax into a spinal twist. Not easy for this round body of mine. Actually, I think it goes deeper than that because I’ve managed yoga classes before at this weight. I think it has more to do with how constricted my mind is. How clamped up/shut tight and unwilling to bend. Hmmm. Interesting… I think a dim light bulb went on in the back of my head somewhere.

So despite the lack of writing on the novel, I’ve started on a short story. I needed a place to write and play with language. A place to remind me that I actually “love” to write and I do. I spent the better part of the day working on it and wrote up about 2,000 words. I felt looser for having done it. My uptight neurotic self let go for an afternoon. Is it perfect? Not by a long shot but it’s a decent work in progress.

Peace,

Lily~

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