I have been writing this week and last. Health and a shitty pc have combined to pretty much put paid to creating recently, it’s good to be back putting words down, shaping stories. My new MacBook is gorgeous, my health is bumpy but I am trying to relax about it, I’m not dying, just poorly, it’s going to flare up and down and I have to learn to roll with it rather than fight it and ultimately suffer more. I need to rest when my body can’t cope, and plan and manage my time accordingly.
I had 2 big things looming that I wanted to submit work to. I wasn’t ready for either truthfully, but I have done my best with the time I had available to me. I just submitted the 2nd of the 2 pieces, and I thought I would feel a buzz of achievement, knowing that I managed to not let the dates slide by whilst I sat here making excuses. I don’t though. I feel extremely low. Those 2 stories aren’t going to do anything for me, I already know that they aren’t good enough. If I haven’t even the thrill of hope it’s rather sad.
And that leads me to question if the small success I have had with my writing is all there is, or if perhaps I am learning more about my craft and so am more able to identify weak writing.
It’s so frustrating to know that I wrote some good stuff, but some of it wasn’t up to scratch, and I couldn’t sustain the quality tthroughout.