Obsession...
Posted: September 16th, 2010, 10:16 am
I think I have a problem.
And it is my book.
No, it's not a problem in my book. It's a problem with my book. It's a problem that I carry it with me. Work on it in the morning. Work on it at night. Work on it at lunch. And work on it between jobs at work when I'm multitasking.
When I'm not working on it, I want to work on it. I think about how I could be working on it.
I don't get burned out. My eyes burn, but my brain doesn't.
I itch to write. I itch to work. I itch to edit and to create.
I can't stop. I can't go to bed. I can't sleep. I wake up in the middle of the morning (4:10am), hungry, and ready to write.
I have been given pills to help me with headaches and they've actually got a pretty potent sedative affect. They helped for three days. Then I was back at it.
This is serious, I think. But I'm not tired. I feel renewed. Alive. Overjoyed.
I should be exhausted and drained. Not dying to get back to the book and twitching to read more of the same book I've read countless times. But I can't wait to polish it "just one more time" and send it out to "just a few more people" for that final sparkle.
Is this the curse of a writer?
Am I...mad?
And it is my book.
No, it's not a problem in my book. It's a problem with my book. It's a problem that I carry it with me. Work on it in the morning. Work on it at night. Work on it at lunch. And work on it between jobs at work when I'm multitasking.
When I'm not working on it, I want to work on it. I think about how I could be working on it.
I don't get burned out. My eyes burn, but my brain doesn't.
I itch to write. I itch to work. I itch to edit and to create.
I can't stop. I can't go to bed. I can't sleep. I wake up in the middle of the morning (4:10am), hungry, and ready to write.
I have been given pills to help me with headaches and they've actually got a pretty potent sedative affect. They helped for three days. Then I was back at it.
This is serious, I think. But I'm not tired. I feel renewed. Alive. Overjoyed.
I should be exhausted and drained. Not dying to get back to the book and twitching to read more of the same book I've read countless times. But I can't wait to polish it "just one more time" and send it out to "just a few more people" for that final sparkle.
Is this the curse of a writer?
Am I...mad?