Life is a strange, quickly-moving thing. Insert Ferris Bueller’s Day Off quote here…
As a result, writing is not getting done. And I’m not too happy about it.
I’m excellent at making plans for writing, and these plans tend to be reasonable and would result in productivity and timely creation of projects. If I could ever get myself to stick to these plans.
My problem is the lack of a deadline. I need real deadlines set by someone other than myself in order to really get to work. I could impose a deadline on myself, it’s true, but I’ve tried, and it doesn’t work. I know why – it’s because the only consequence of not getting my writing done by the date I set is not getting published … which, somehow, is just not enough of an incentive. Perhaps because there’s no guarantee that I will ever get my work published – outside of self-publishing, that is.
This mostly just adds to my original point. I wanted to self-publish a novel this year, and I have yet to do the necessary research on self-publishing to know what the steps are after the straightforward part – the writing. (That’s a joke, by the way.) I have barely done any work on the project I plan to publish, and at this rate it doesn’t even seem likely that I’ll be done with the first draft by the end of this year.
And since the world is ending this year, I guess that means I just won’t ever be published… thanks, Mayans. You have just crushed my dreams.
(That was also a joke.)