Letting Things Take Time

I know that things take time. Especially manuscripts.

I know that I should let things take time and run their natural course, but it's hard. It's hard not stressing out over my not finishing a book in months when I'm also freaking out about everything else. My human existence. Whether or not I or anyone else is a good person, or at all redeemable. If God exists. If ghosts exist. What the hell I'm going to do for a living. How I'm going to survive and make end's meet if I can't even get out of bed or dress myself most days.

To be clear, I'm not making myself out to be some great victim. I'm not like, quivering and rolling around on the floor in a state of constant crisis. I might be close, but I'm not there yet.

I just stress myself out.

The thing is this entire struggle will probably remain forever a figment of my own emotions and imagination and paranoia, stuck inside my head, and I should ignore the fear and live my life to the fullest I can enjoy it.

But, you know, that's not how this whole existential dread thing works. I can't shut it off. And I need to chill.

So I'm dubbing this month the month of short stories and relaxation. Next month I'll worry about getting more serious and setting deadlines and really tackling whatever it is I'm feeling. But for now, I'm going to let myself wing these strings of random short stories and ignore the market and trends and what sells and what I want my author image to be and who I want to be as a human and if I can even become a halfway normal, functioning, worthwhile person, and just fucking write.

The truth is even though it all feels suffocating, most of what I'm feeling is not new. Other people have felt it and are feeling it every day. So I should breathe and not convince myself that my problematic symptoms make me evil, because I know who I am, or I should, and I'm trying to get back in touch with that person.

Maybe this month I'll somehow achieve that by writing a bit. Just for me, not anybody else.

My wip has fancy gowns and mansions and it's giving me Pretty Little Liars vibes, big time. Except it also has magic. Lots of it. And my worldbuilding is basically 'anything can happen' so I can write whatever the fuck I want. I probably won't write in this world again, which is also really freeing because I don't have to think ahead to what I want to do in future installments while writing the current story and building my world.

This is what I've been doing for the last five hours.

I'm going to get back to it and hope it makes me want to jump off a high surface a little less, and maybe produces something publishable.

(A totally unrelated aside; anyone else screaming with joy at the prospect of the new Shatter Me books?)