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When writing just isn't bringing you joy?

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Oh, hard agree, though I’m not sure “beautiful” is the correct word. But there’s also a reason I do it, something about it that resonates with me past the act of just putting words down. Forcing myself to write has gotten less and less difficult over the years. It’s not unlike laying brick or something equally repetitive and menial. But sometimes you hit a different kind of wall, a wall of “Wait, why am I doing this? Do I like this? Would I read this? Is this really meaningful to me?” Maybe that doesn’t commonly happen, maybe it’s the sign of a turning or transition point.

The habit is one thing. I can sit down and write 1k or 2k a night out of stubbornness. But there’s a reason for starting the habit in the first place, or at least a goal it was going to help me reach. With Wolves the writing habit had become its own end and I wasn’t even looking forward to having a finished project, just the thing being over with. I tough it out through rough things because I really want the end product, a finished draft. Not because I just feel like I have to be doing something. I found it to be a good idea to explore that. Why it might be happening. What, exactly, I really want to write. What I can do to slowly make it there.

Now I’ve opened a document and I’m writing random bullshit off the top of my head in place of a coherent project in hopes of finding something that clicks. I think I *do* have to be doing something.

Maybe Wolves helped me figure out what I don’t want to be doing. It’s not a waste, even if I don’t ever look at it again...
 
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