It I could just admit to myself that this entire novel writing bullshit is just me committing the sunk cost fallacy and it’s time to let the novel go and sink to the bottom of the Ocean of Crap I've Wasted My Time On.
Because I have no energy and no motivation to finish this.
Maybe a new laptop would motivate me? Maybe a 11 inch MacBook Air is the ticket? Though I've tried that. More than once. Last time I purchased this trusted laptop I'm currently typing on (which has been to New York on several writing retreats and has typed the entirety of my novel this far and a couple of short stories) was my incentive to write (oh but my laptop is now three years old, surely it's time to get a new one?) and look where that's taken me. Well, it's taken me almost to the end of my first draft and I've started redrafting so...Maybe I should stay with this one until I finish the fucker - superstitious.
But the will to write, the will has sunk and it feels like it will cost too much to reengage. I just want to sleep. It's like the only thing that's of interest to me right now (well, shoes and cocktails too). So I guess I know where I'm heading - into the maelstrom. And seriously, I don't care enough to stop it. (And that shit is for my other blog.)
There's so much more work to do on the novel. People keep asking me if I was productive while away and I now it feels like I wasn't even though I WORKED EVERY FUCKING DAY APART FROM THREE. (And yes, I meant for that to be in caps; I didn't put on caps lock by mistake.) But it's shit. It's drafts. Nothing that I can say is done. In a way the month was almost a waste of time. At least back here when I produce a chapter a month it's a chapter that will go into the novel (subject to some editing).
I guess maybe I'm being a bit hard on myself. As usual. The chapters are done (subject to whatever happens in chapter 12, 13 and 14 before I can say chapter 15 and 16 (previously chapters 10 and 11) of course). But what with all the shit going on in my life right now it's not the best time to try to do this. But when is ever a good time? It shouldn't be this difficult; it shouldn't feel like such hard work. Why am I so lazy?
Oh Mighty Sunk Cost Fallacy - am I going to let you win after all and admit that I'm committing you and sink this ship? Probably not. After all, I'm a stubborn bitch and what are Sundays for if not for writing and cocktails? And maybe sleeping...