Frostwritten

I wrote 1000 words this week. Actually, more like 1500 words; somewhere in that realm.

It doesn’t seem like a lot, probably. I’m sure a lot of writers do that in a day. But to me, it’s like running a 10k.

I haven’t written a new project in more years than I care to admit. At least, a project that isn’t a poem or a short story. I have countless ideas stashed away, little birds waiting to stretch their wings, bits and pieces scribbled here and there, but I didn’t really know where to begin, or how. I didn’t want to shelve my complete manuscript (and I’m still not going to – at least, not forever!) because it would feel like failure, starting something else would be a betrayal, and too often I let the creeping doubt stall my fingers.

I’ll still have days where I spend my entire day at work, just waiting to finish my shift so I can go home and write, only to collapse into bed immediately after dinner and fail to write a single word. Or where the spiraling starts, and I spend the entire day staring at a blank page before falling into an endless loop of doom scrolling.

But I know that if I do not start again, if I do not push myself, it is a failure. And I can’t let that happen.

So, I have begun again, and it feels… right.