This week, I fell in love again. Here’s what happened:
I booked a week off work with the intention to go on holiday, but it turns out I couldn’t afford it. So instead, I used the free time to plough on with my story, which was excellent, because I needed a good rocket boost. Lately, my progress has been dwindling, and I dare say that I’ve been losing passion for the project, which I suppose is bound to happen with something so large and time-consuming; but this week, I seem to have overcome those mental barriers and worked on my book with renewed vigour. Quite frankly, I’ve fallen in love with it again.
I’ve been at it since November, so there was bound to be peaks and troughs in my progress. However, I am proud that I have continued to move forward, regardless of what’s been going on in my life. I’ve stayed true to my goal and the finish line will inevitably arrive, though I’m not too concerned as to when. After all, there’s no deadline; the book will be finished in its own time. Hopefully, the first draft will be ready in a few months, but hey, who knows for certain.
So what now? What happens when I return to my job tomorrow? Will my progress be impeded once more? After all, a job is time-consuming and thought-pervading. Isn’t it bound to hinder my progress?
Yes, quite possibly. Though I sense that my passion burns deep. It is the sort of feverish enthusiasm that “calls” me to the keyboard, like an itch that needs to be satisfied. It is similar to what I felt in the early days, when things were more fresh and exciting. When you are possessed with a desire like that, you find the time to write, whenever possible.