Now, this is going to sound like I'm making up excuses, and maybe it really is, but I think I came to a conclusion as to why I'm having so much trouble writing this year as opposed to previous years, even when I was going through a spell of depression. The reason--my family.
Now, I love my family, and it's not them personally that is making it hard for me to get in the writing spirit again. The problem is that there is never a time when I have the house to myself. Never. There is always someone here in this house, whereas when I lived with my ex there were numerous times I had the house to myself, and that's when I got most of my writing done. When he was in the house I had a hard time concentrating on my work. He could be very quiet and still; yet, it was like the light shut off on my imagination until he went to bed. When he was gone and I had the house all to my very lonesome, I could turn on some music, light some candles, you know, set up an atmosphere, and have the comfort in knowing no one would be around to bother me and bring me out of my zone.
It was nice. And last year, when my depression started to take its hold on me, was when I did the most writing I had ever done. I had finished the first draft of my book at the turn of this year. I was proud, things were looking up in regards to my writing.
Then the ex and I split. That took its toll on me for a while, but I'm over it now. Yet, I still can't seem to focus because I know there are people in the house (and I have a cat of constant licking that never leaves my room). And I'm away from my comfy writing zone, my own place that I shared with my then significant other. I keep thinking to myself, if only I had my own place where it was quiet all the time, I could get some writing done. It just isn't feasible for me right now, money-wise, to have my own place.
I've toyed with the idea of taking a pad of paper and pen to the cemetery and sit there to write, away from the house and where most likely no one will bother me. I don't know. Like I said, I may be making excuses not to write, but whenever I open the document and start to pound the keys, I just can't get far because I hear people moving around (or a cat licking) and it takes me out of the zone. Perhaps I'm going through some sort of writing doldrums and I don't know how to snap myself out of it. I've tried, and have managed to edit my first finished piece, which still needs more editing, and I've written some new stuff, but not like I've done in the past. Maybe I need to take the energy I'm using toward whining on my blog and turn it toward writing my stories instead.