Can someone finish my revisions for me?

Honestly, I don’t know if they’re ever going to get done at this rate.

What’s really annoying, is I want to get back to Connor and McKenna and tell their story. I want to sit down and finish the revisions and edits so some CPs can read it. I want all of these things, so explain to me why I haven’t finished it yet. Why I haven’t opened the doc and just put my butt in a chair and done the work?

Instead, Shiny New Ideas are popping up left and right, begging to be written. Of course, I try and get the gist of them down on paper (so to speak) so I don’t lose them.

Like, can I stop having visceral, vivid dreams that lend themselves to be potential story ideas? Can I stop waking up from these dreams, filled with despair that they weren’t real? Can I stop feeling everything, including any touches that I dreamt up?

Why is my mind so cruel?

This stems from the fact that the other night I had a very vivid, very real feeling dream, where I’d found the love of my life, in a warring city, and I had to spy for the reigning government and testify at a hearing to get him back. Then I got him back, and he’d been stashed away for who knows how long and didn’t realize that the city we’d grown up in was in full war mode.

Y’all I remember the look on this fictional man’s face when his heart broke for his city. I remember sobbing when I was reunited with him, I felt pain in my knees waking up from where I crashed to them, upon seeing his face.

Then I woke up…in a bed…alone.

What the actual fuck brain?

Probably needless to say, but I spent the morning writing down the dream, filling in potential plot and world details for this story that I may or may not ever write.

And I still haven’t touched my actual WIP that I should be working on.

I think it was the last Writing Update, where I talked about imposter syndrome, and how writing kind of feels “damned if you do, damned if you don’t”. I guess I still kind of feel that way. I guess the mouths on Twitter are still in my head. Maybe it’s the constant barrage of “when are you going to finish writing your book” questions I get from family members, who don’t quite understand what it means to write a book.

Maybe it’s a million things, but the fact is, I’m still not writing, and I don’t know why. I’m terrified that it’s because I don’t want to tell that story anymore. Or that maybe I’m not cut out to write a book, that I’m just kidding myself, and I should just resign myself to reading and reviewing other people’s books.

It’s hard enough when the faceless people of Twitter are trying to dictate what people should and shouldn’t and can and can’t write. It’s another thing entirely, when the people closest to you, want to be supportive, but just don’t quite get it.

Maybe I’m just procrastinating and complaining because that’s easier than sitting down and making the changes I need to make. I miss being able to go to coffee shops, or Barnes and Nobles to write. I feel like, when I’m at home, there are a million more distractions, a million more things to do than write my book. But if I’m out, I feel like I have to be productive. Can I just blame Covid and the Pandemic for not finishing? That feels like a cheap excuse.

I don’t know. One of these days, I will finish these damn freaking revisions and people will get to read it. I want people to read it. I want people to fall in love with my characters. I want to be published. I want those things. I’m going to make it happen, it just might take some time…I guess.

When I get back from vacation, I’ll put my headphones on, play some folklore, make some coffee, put my butt in a chair and do it. I’ll work on my revisions. I’m writing this to hold me accountable, for you to hold me accountable.

Hopefully your writing progress is going better than mine!