This has been one of the worst weeks I’ve experienced for quite a while. In no way would it earn the title “worst week EVER” or even “worst week this year” but it’s still quite awful. Half of the awfulness isn’t even happening to me, but to people I love and care about. Truthfully, it’s making me really angry at God, going, “Haven’t these people had enough to deal with already???” or “Why NOW?” or “I really want to believe that You have a plan in this. WTF is Your plan???”
Of course, since much of what is happening isn’t happening to me, I’m not really at liberty to go into details—though I will say that most of it is health-related, mentally and physically. It’s heartbreaking to see people I love go through stress, hardships, and pain. Especially when crap happens on top of preexisting crap. I can say that I’ll pray for them (and I do), but that doesn’t seem like enough, even when it’s all I can do. I have to trust God in all of this, but mostly because I have no other options. I must say, I have received support from some truly wonderful people in these trying times. I just wish all the crap weren’t happening at all, either to them or to me—although in one instance, I wish it were happening to me instead of someone else.
As for myself, work has been immensely stressful. Partly because of the workload, which is partly my fault because I could say “no” to just about any assignment they give me, though the more I say “no” the smaller my paycheck is. Partly also because the type of assignments I’ve been working on have been rather mind-bending and frustrating. It’s nothing like, “I want another job.” No siree. I’m glad to have the one I have now. It’s more like “I need a nice, extended vacation.”
I have also fallen completely out of love with my book. And to a lesser extent, writing in general. Work on my sequel to Radicals & Royalists has been dwindling until I think this past weekend it fizzled out entirely. I’ve been complaining about how hard marketing the first book has been, and that is true, but at the same time I have gathered a bunch of suggestions and ideas for things I could be doing to get it “out there.” Have I done them? Hell no, because I finally admitted to myself that I simply don’t want to. I’m tired of thinking about it, I’m tired of talking about it, and I’m sick of the sight of it. I tried to force myself into working on the sequel, and I thought, “I just don’t care about these people anymore.” And not just the sequel—I’m tired of writing in general. I am burned out. I just don’t want to deal with it anymore. ANY of it.
It has reached the point where I dread seeing certain friends because I know they’ll ask me about how my book is going—sales, the sequel’s progress, etc.—and I simply do not want to talk about it.
This isn’t even writer’s block. This is … I don’t even know what it is. Identity loss, almost. Scary.
Nay nay; it’s not that easy to break your heart; sometimes I wish it were! No, we have to go on living, all the appointed days, as it says in the Bible. ~ Squire Hamley, “Wives & Daughters”