With everything going on in the world, sometimes I wonder what’s the point in writing happily-ever-afters. As a romance author, that’s not good. True, my summer was frustrating as hell, and as if that wasn’t bad enough, I’m struggling with my current novel because, well, I just can’t find the love anymore.
Some days, I’ve asked myself, “what’s the point?”
Until I saw this and knew exactly where I’ve been.
Apparently I’ve been splitting homes between the Waves of Depression and the Mountain Range of Impotent Range with visits to Crippling Insecurity-ville. Not to mention, frequent stops at I-Spend-Too-Much-Time-Online Falls. No wonder my romance mojo was running on empty.
But I’m going to be optimistic. I’m going to hang out at the Glade of Hopeful Aspirations and shoot for the goal of finishing that novel even if I’m starting over from scratch. I’m even sketching postcards when I should be writing (that’s because I kinda plot as I sketch) – and watching Game of Thrones and wondering <<<SPOILER ALERT!!!>>>> if Tormund got out of harm’s way in time to make beautiful babies with Brienne.