I know sometimes I hate what I’m writing but then it passes. Or perhaps I hate a certain writing day. This isn’t that. Once again I’ve started something that won’t fly.
I have the awful feeling that I can’t write anymore. Some part of me is fed up with the whole process. It’s not that I have to feel pleasure all the time I’m writing. That would be unrealistic. But I feel no pleasure at all. It feels like I’m simply hitting keys. Writing for the sake of writing because I’m supposed to be a writer.
No, I don’t want to change careers. I think I don’t want to do anything. I don’t want to write. I know that I’ve always been a happier person when I’m writing, but not lately. And by lately I mean the last several years.
Is it because I know what’s going on in the publishing world? Because the chance of selling whatever I write is slim? I suppose these things could contribute to my not wanting to write, but I suspect there’s something else. I’m sick of it.
But I’m a writer. And real writers have to write. Yes, I’m a real writer. I’ve published many novels. I guess that makes me a real writer. Do other real writers stop cold? Get sick of it?
Many names of writers come to mind who haven’t published a book in years. Is this because they can’t get published? Or have they quit? And does it matter what other writers have done?
I can’t do it anymore.