I just came back from my writing group which has become so popular we have switched from meeting once every two weeks to meeting every week. The fact is, the only writing I am doing lately is in relation to this group. I don’t know if it is pregnancy brain or something else, but I have been unable to focus on two things that are pretty pivotal to my existence as a sane human being: reading and writing.
I keep telling myself that it is the exhaustion associated with the first trimester and that there is an end in sight, but I know that is more than that. First and foremost, I must bring myself to the page. I am at the point where I must FORCE myself to write. Not because it is torture, but because it is, in fact, the opposite. Writing is my release, if I don’t do it I am bound to get overwhelmed with little more than my existence.
Sophia, the organizer of our writing group, called us all to action this week. She brought light to the fact that we aren’t pushing ourselves to a solid writing goal. She’s right. I know, personally, I have started treating my writing like more of a hobby than a passion.
Enough is enough.
Time for me to get back to work. Time for me to embrace, once again, that this is work. However, just like my teaching, this is the kind of work that reaps rewards that are so very worth the time and effort.