It Goes Up To Eleven
It may be time to move my writing process off the computer again. I went digital again a few months back, when I was working on a redraft, and I found myself lured back into the rhythm of the keyboard and the quick accumulation of words that can be counted. And then, gradually, as things got busy and allocating my time got more complex, I started to loathe the idea of opening the laptop and the writing faded into the background. On the other hand, I also need to do dishes. And change the sheets on my bed. And wander, blinking, into the sunlight without resenting the fact that I have to go to work. These are not signs of not writing, they are signs of higher-than-usual stress levels. I let the little things go when I have no power to change to big things that need changing. I start questioning long-term plans, and making crazy alternatives. I stop reading
