Writing Words With the Tips of My Toes
I have been having to take a writing hiatus this past year…and I hate it. Besides the short story I wrote as a precursor to When Stars Die, I have not been doing any other kind of writing besides blogging and the occasional paper for classes. Otherwise, I have been doing zero writing.
I’m not on a vacation from writing. It’s not a hiatus I want to take. It’s one I feel like I’m being forced to take because everything else in my life has burned me out so much that I don’t have any energy left to even think about writing. In fact, it’s a miracle I was able to write “A Treacherous Flame” within the deadline I had set for myself.
My work hours have increased thanks to a new system my boss implemented. As a result, I’ve mostly been left with one day off a week, a day which I end up using to study, a day which is also more often than not the same day I do ballet on. (I haven’t even gotten around to looking at the contract for When Stars Die or even putting together a media packet for the cover reveal of “A Treacherous Flame”!)
Some writers out there might tell me to just suck it up and write when I can, even if it’s just a word a day, and they might be right. But I am burned out from my job. Thoroughly burned out. And there’s practically nothing I can do about it, other than count the days until the vacation I’ll be taking with my fiance in December. When you’re burned out from something you’re still forced to do, it’s hard to have any energy for other areas of your life. The energy that I do have, the type needed to be productive, I end up expending it on either going to the gym (because an out-of-shape personal trainer isn’t much of a trainer), going to ballet, or studying, studying, studying. Goodness me, I haven’t even really been reading. I’m currently trying to get through Cassandra Clare’s A Clockword Princess, which is a little bit slow right now; it’s probably why I haven’t ripped through it, but I know it will pick up.
Being perpetually burned out is no fun. I spend my days thinking of how I cannot wait to get certified as a personal trainer, to get a job in doing something I know that I’ll love, to be doing something meaningful for other people that benefits their health, which in turn will benefit their lives. I also spend my days wishing I could make enough money off of being a writer that it could help me pay the few bills I do have, as well as give me a little bit of extra pocket money. Then I wouldn’t have to stay at my current job. Even worse, I spend my days just wishing, wishing, wishing I would get sick so I could take time off work. And, of course, I spend my days wishing I could simply quit altogether.
I’m astonished I haven’t fallen into the throes of depression. Really. Truly. Astonished. But maybe it’s because I know how to slow down when I get home from work. Which, unfortunately, often includes not being very productive.
The burnout is so bad, so sucky, that I can’t even muster any excitement about the re-release of When Stars Die. Or releasing its companion short, “A Treacherous Flame.” I need excitement for these things to ensure successful release days. Perhaps I can fake excitement in some way.
Oh, well. I’m hoping something will change.