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Sorry about yesterday's post.

It started Wednesday, this heightened anxiety, so that I was afraid to work on Shen. Then this fatalism emerged, because I have a deadline -- 30th September. That's when I enter the Mslexia Novel Competition. And I was convinced I wouldn't make it. I could imagine a long, dry spell. I could imagine how I would avoid finishing the book because I wouldn't be able to face the downer that always follows finishing.

Thursday the paranoia got a boost from a pension meeting at my job. Did you know that 17% of us are going to live to 100? That should be okay for rich people. Me, I woke up at 4am, the usual time for these feelings to reach their peak. I cried. I wondered if I should start a savings plan to cover the cost of my trip to Digitas when I'm no longer able to afford to stay alive.

As a result, Friday I was dog tired. In spite that, I did try to work on the novel that evening. Nothing impressive, just polished part of a chapter. Then wallowed in regret, the result of which you've read. But I knew that the solution to this was going to come from the thing I was avoiding. This morning I sat down at 9am and reshaped chapters 27, 28, 29. And there was lift off. I got back to a level of hopefulness -- not euphoric, but nicely on middle ground.

I should know by now. When I write, I can cope. When I don't, I get in a mess. The fear is stupid, like being scared to fill a car with gasoline because I fear the possibility of a mechanical breakdown.


January 2015



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