I’m only happy when I’m writing

So this will be shorter than it could’ve been because I’ve already told you half of it and I’ve certainly already told you I shouldn’t be focussing on personal stuff.

I’ve discovered, slightly to my own surprise, that I like to write. My new year’s resolution of the new writing regime lasted until nearly the end of Feb. This may not sound great but given I’m usually chomping down on whatever tasty treat I’ve officially given up by lunchtime Jan 2 it was huge. Also, as I said, I am lazy. So I exceeded my own expectations and that’s always nice.

And I did so in both the amount of time I lasted, and in the fact that I actually finished stuff. Three, or was it four short stories, actually got to the point of ‘the end’. True they mostly sucked beyond belief, even after editting, but they were complete. Not outlines, not opening and closing paragraphs with a bit of dialogue, but actual ideas carried through to execution.

So when I realised, about a month ago, that I hadn’t really written for about a month, I didn’t panic. I didn’t castigate myself for having given up and tell myself that this proves I am not a real writer. No, I just thought, well obviously I should get back to it, and I probably will, and based on recent evidence, will probably have another, longer, more productive period. After all over the past five years, I’ve gone from barely acknowledging the dream, to fitful attempts, classes and groups to this latest five month stretch of pretty consistent writing (my NYR was committing to a specific timetable, but I’d re-started writing back in October).

Unfortunately this lack of panic allowed my natural laziness to take over and I slipped back into bad old ways. Until I realised this last weekend the following, that during the earlier part of this year I was

* writing regularly

* finishing stuff

* watching less TV, but looking forward to and possibly enjoying more what I was watching

* eating better and actually cooking

* not drinking too heavily

Some of that (cooking?) may seem unrelated, but discipline breeds discipline, so someone once told me, and it seems to be true.

Anyway since stopping, and particularly since feeling relaxed about stopping, I’d

* hardly written anything, not even this blog

* gone back to watching any old crap, sometimes spending an evening surfing channels, recordings and never settling on any one thing, leaving me feeling unsatisfied

* eating junk food

* drinking too much a bit too often

So overall, despite the fact that it was hard work, I was actually happier when I was writing regularly.