Progress.
I’m actually making progress.
Not just in my writing…but my writing is what I’ve been thinking about most this week.
I just had another little breakthrough tonight, another piece that fell perfectly into place. A domino I can set up earlier that will fall nice and neat coming up in the section I’m in.
I also just mapped out the next few chapters in this sequence. It’s long. Longer than I wanted it to be…but hopefully that doesn’t matter much. Hopefully what I’ve crafted is exciting and compelling. And if not…that’s what edits are for 🤓 I’ll figure it out. First draft is just getting the story on the page in a semblance of something that works on a basic level. Pacing is icing.
I was really feeling burned out this week. No…not burned out. Overwhelmed, which is different. Scared.
Talked about that a lot in therapy today, how I recognize that I’ve become gunshy because of my writing struggles. I don’t trust myself. I don’t trust taking things at a pace that gives me measurable or quick progress. Or…at least that’s what the fearful part of me feels.
That voice, for the first time in a long, long time, didn’t derail me this week. I was able to keep my bubble intact. Because of therapy. Because of meditation.
My writing these days feels like that: a calm in the middle of the storm. It’s safe in there. Quiet. Protected. I got emotional describing that feeling.
Real progress.
It feels good.