Giving Up.

Wednesday 3rd of April 2019

For three years now I’ve been struggling to finish my second book. On the first of this month, I looked at my notes and felt this panic, I just couldn’t make myself write.

Understand that I know exactly what I want to write, this block is completely mental, my writing doesn’t mean anything to me anymore. I can’t write if it doesn’t mean something to me.

I keep writing because what am I without it, who am I? What am I supposed to do, what do I tell people if I’m not a writer? These aren’t good reasons to keep doing something I’m not happy with anymore, right?

I’m not giving up on writing, writing is still a compulsion, but I’m giving up on being a writer right now. There’s still so much I want, so many ideas in me, so many stories I want to tell. And I want to get to them, but I can’t do it in this state. Maybe I’ll never get to them, maybe I have to accept that.

Right now, I’m terrified. What do I do with my life if I’m not a writer? Who am I? I feel lost and scared, but it’s not important, nothing really is and that’s part of the problem. Things have to matter to me again. So, what matters to me?

“Can’t you see there’s a world out there? Don’t be scared.” – A Million Little Pieces, Placebo.

‘The Murder of Miss O’ available now from booky places.