N~space

I went to the library at lunchtime today, same as yesterday. It was good. I'm going through my notes on the novel, getting things back into my head, sinking back in. I am aware that I'm not actually writing yet but I can almost see how it could be done now, which I couldn't at all before. (That is, until I imagine actually doing it and then I get all anxious again.)

Interspersed with all the useful bits were pages where I've written about the writing, giving myself little pep talks. A large proportion start "it's been ages since I worked on this story, but I'm back into it now." It's embarrassing how often I've stopped and started (or started and stopped) on this. It would be better if I could give up on it altogether, turf the notes, declutter my study and settled into a non-writing life. That's how I spend most of my time anyway, why not make it permanent? But I can't do it. I love writing, I love sinking into the world, crafting sentences that mean exactly what I want them to. I feel better and more settled when I do it. Even when I spend months not doing it, the idea that I can start doing it again makes me happy.

So I keep trying. To make time for it, to break through the fear and perfectionism which is usually the reason I stop. I keep trying to reach the goal where this sinking in comes effortlessly, or at least with fewer tears. I just want to create. Have an idea, get it onto paper the way it looks in my head. Finish it. And then have another idea and do it all again. Publishing isn't the goal -- it'd be nice, but I know how much work I'd have to do to get to that point, and how unlikely it is even then. I just want to do it for its own sake, because it feels good.

So I can't stop, even though most of the time I can't start either. This time goal is just to be doing it again, and having fun.