I got sick and got lice this past week. It blew and it killed my ability to read and write. I feel completely off my rhythm and even skipped writing group yesterday to clean up my house. I know that this is shortterm but it's difficult to not be hard on myself. I have so many writing projects I want to do and so little time to do them and I'm being forced to reassess. Aralise is the story with my heart but I'm not skilled enough as a writer to do it justice and first novels must be under 100,000 words for agents to consider them. I have chosen a White Wolf Old-World-of-Darkness inspired toxic yuri thing for a first novel that I'll start next year and I'm currently sketching that out. Breaking through and being acknowledge as a writer is grueling and it makes me question why I'm doing this.
What I've realized with writing is that it's less the quality of your prose and dedication to the craft (which is important, 100%) but your tenacity. There is a point where there are diminishing returns on improvement and you're getting more out of just submitting over and over. I think, part of it is that when we foster and adopt teens, I want to honestly tell my kids to pursue their dreams and not be a hypocrite. Another part is just the drive to write.
I worry all the time I'm not going to be a good enough mother, really. I see the foster teens on the adoption page and I know they're going to age out without someone because everyone wants a baby. Intellectually, I know showing up at all is half the equation. But really? Am I just wasting my time with writing? Do I need to knuckle down and save more, double up on my therapy? There's no guide, no clear way to get where I'm going. It's terrifying because the teens are going to come into my life and every decision I've made up until that point is going to determine who I can be for them.