the universe is telling you…nothing. get back to work.

This is how it happens: this is the moment where I become disillusioned and cranky and worried and doubtful, and I break up with a book. Or, if not a complete break up, something even more insidious: I take a break from it. "I think I'll put this project aside for a while and work on something else." But that hasn't worked for me! Why should I think it will work, now?

I have a big revision ahead of me, is the thing. Staring me in my scared little face. I don't really know what I can salvage from this draft, and I feel so thwarted; it feels so much like starting over. And then there are those other ideas, just waiting for some attention…perhaps I should attend to them?

But I can't. I won't. I made a commitment to focus on one project. Now is not the time for weakness or doubt or a wandering creative eye. Am I a woman or am I a mouse?