So last night while watching Whip It (Yes, I know it’s a girly movie. I’ll turn in my man card later.), I just kind of came to a realization: Nothing does it for me like writing a novel. Nothing gets me as motivated or as high or as happy. Telling the stories that overload my brain on a daily basis isn’t just something I want to do — it’s something I have to do.
With that in mind, I’ve been futzing around researching a new novel — something to work on while Prodigal is in stasis with my first readers. Ideally, I want to be writing the first draft of this new novel while editing/redrafting Prodigal. But I haven’t written a single word yet. Oh, I’ve done a few things here and there — but the backspace key always takes over. It’s like I’m not ready to commit yet.
We only get one go-round in this life, and I’m not making full use of the time or talent I have. I think that’s becoming more and more clear to me as I have days where I sit around and play on the Xbox. I’m wasting a ton of potential. And it’ll stay potential as long as I don’t try.
Time to get back on the horse.