It has been said by fancy scientist
that it takes us - more specifically - our noggins - 21 days to form a habit or
break one. But it exercising, smoking or yes even this 5-minutes-I
still-am-in-bed-but-I-forgot-the-last-two-days and now I feel I feel pings of
guilt. Writing is like any other work, you have good days and bad days. The
point is to keep doing it and with writer's psyche where the constant fear of
failure and self-doubt loom like ominous little clouds above your head
continuously - it can prove difficult. But I keep going, moving forward into
the uncharted territory of what it's going to take to get this completed. And
I am doing all because honestly, it's time to do it for me. I am becoming
slightly OCD about writing and the crafting of my tale. But I am remembering
those 21-days and I know as addicted as I think I am now, this whole thing may
even be worse than smoking.
*curtsies to John, runs off back to my little cave*
be-fuckin-have!
k
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