Lately, I feel like all I’ve written is craptacular crapulence. I’m double pressured because my carpal tunnel keeps me from feeling confident that I can write at all which hinders my creative gates even more. When I do write, I’m at the mercy of my body–how long can I take the pressure? A few minutes? A lucky few hours followed by a bad couple of days? All of this adds up to WHEN I write, it MUST be good because who knows how long I can keep it up (long term and short term). Ah, the ramifications. They suck.
So much pressure.
It’s one of the ironies of my life that now that I have finally given over completely to writing, I can’t physically manage it. But my life has always offered unique challenges–it’s been a bit of a defining characteristic, in fact.
My hubby says that I have to change ‘how’ I write but how do you change something that’s been a part of me my whole life? A process that is just as particular to me as my way of thinking?
I don’t know.
I just know that its turned my world upside down, and not for the better.