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12 Months Of Not Writing, Now I have to Restart
The hardest part of ending is starting again
I remember sipping my hot coffee on a cold Sunday morning. Any normal person would pull on their blanket and sleep. But I kept myself busy. I write. Because I know, that if I write every day, I will turn metal into gold.
But time flies, and commitment grows. I had a family to take care of. And writing became a luxury I could not afford. It takes too much effort, for too little outcome — financially anyway.
I didn’t immediately stop. Rather, I procrastinated. Stories remain drafts. Drafts remain negligible. I was struck by the infamous THE WRITERS BLOCK.
Writing was no longer a matter of time-consuming. Writing was a matter of capability. It seems as though I have lost the ability to write. Unfinished drafts haunt me.
What Drives Me To Write?
My immediate bet is that it’s my passion.
Well, it was. Until I stopped.
Suddenly it becomes obvious. It was for cash.
And when outcomes do not meet effort, motivation sinks.
“You have priorities,” said the money-driven heart.
