My own personal icebuckets

Over the summer there was a craze going round for having a bucket of ice tipped over one’s head. That sudden shock as the ice and water hits you and drips down, leaving you soaked and freezing, makes you gasp with shock.

A couple of weeks ago, as I walked along the road to the meeting point for parkrun, I felt my own mental icebucket: a little voice saying you’re stupid, you’re useless, there’s no way in hell you’re going to be able to do this run. Somehow I managed to continue anyway, and yes I did complete the run, and while it wasn’t a record-breaker, it was perfectly respectable.

Tonight I’ve felt yet another version of it. As I prepare for nano, excited to work on a new project, there are still eight days before I’m officially supposed to start writing. Frustrated from spending my time fixing other people’s work (oh how much easier I find that!), I tried looking back at the latest draft of the babies book, and it was so far from what I wanted it to be that once again I felt that ice bucket drench me. I told myself to write about anything at all, and I opened a blank page and stared at it, but the only words that came were about how useless I was.

And then I came on here. Because if I can’t write, then at least I can describe not being able to write. And so again I’ve managed to shake off that ice bucket and continue anyway. And when we reach nano I’ll keep writing and push through the 50k words, and by the end even if I’ve still got nothing worth reading I’ll have something like another 100 hours’ worth of writing experience. And a writing muscle strengthened and ready to go. And a habit established that this year I don’t want to break at the end of the month.

And in the meantime, I really ought to write something for writing group, as the deadline for that is Monday. Any suggestions?

 

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