I love this blog. I truly do. I know I've grown as a writer -- I've definitely grown as an essayist -- and I know it's making it easier for me to get what's in my head on paper.
But, man, it is just tiring sometimes.
So the cryptic contest that I kept alluding to opened yesterday (technically today) at midnight. I found out there were a few last-minute things I had to write up (things they don't tell you about in the rules). To compare this to running, it was like finding out that the last mile in a marathon is not only uphill, but you have to sprint it. I was exhausted from editing an entire manuscript (plus pitch -- plus those modeling essays for a different project) in just a month and a half. And now I had to write up a bunch of stuff, never knowing if the contest would fill up by the time I finished.
But I did finish. And I went to bed. And then I woke up and had this to do.
If we're continuing the metaphor here, this blog post is like the sprint intervals after crossing the finish line. And I bloody hate the running at this point.
But hey, much like running, if you can force yourself forward when all you want to do is quit, suddenly a different world can open up for you. Suddenly you realize you can run 5 miles, 6 miles, 10 miles... Suddenly you realize you have it in you to complete NaNoWriMo, or edit like a banshee (I'm sure banshees are actually terrible editors, as they have no grasp of any grammar rules), or do whatever it is that you love, but more of it.
I feel like it's a cop-out to have a blog post talking about how much I don't feel like writing, but, oh well. My blog, my rules.
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