I Think I'm Broken

I've felt a little shifty lately (and, no, that's not a misspelling), and just can't focus. I wrote another short story, felt good about it, sent if off into submission-land, moved on. Poked and prodded at other projects, which just sort of twitched but wouldn't perform. Then I started scratching at rewrites and edits and got a little excited when they rolled over or begged, but the appeal quickly fled.

So, to sum it up to those of you who haven't given up on me after my long silences, I think I'm broken.

Granted, life has been BUSY and full of other things to focus on. I've been training to run a 5K and, yes, it's been emotionally, mentally and physically challenging. When I'm not actually training, I'm reading about training and shoes and run times and PRs (still have no clue what that stands for; practice runs?) and drooling over running gear that I could never justify buying ($40 for a pair of shorts? Haha). And all this fanaticism has just about drowned out that voice that tells me that it's about time I started writing again.

I feel distanced from my critique friends. I feel like I've missed too much and now I can't possibly catch up. I feel a little left in their dust, honestly. And while I am happy for the varied successes, I'm a bit overwhelmed. Just a few months ago, that was ME chattering about my latest WIP, characters, plots, offering critiques like they were going out of style. And then--I'll admit it--I received a lot of flack about some of my stories (not just in one critique group, either) and sort of got discouraged.

There, I said it. I am discouraged. And when I am discouraged it's difficult for me to be excited about a project, which means it's difficult for me to write it. If I lack faith in a story, it shows in the writing. So why bother?

So I briefly focused on other things. Things that had yet to be touched by that discouragement because, well, they were my "secret" stories. The ones that were too "mature" for my critique groups. While writing them, I regained some of that faith and confidence in myself. I thought that even if I couldn't write the traditional fantasy stories that I wanted, I could at least write about sex. (And I can do it pretty well, if I do say so myself.) But as much as I enjoy writing my naughty stories, they're not what really calls to me.

Honestly, it's like that Langston Hughes poem, "A Dream Deferred." I keep waiting, waiting, waiting for something to happen that rekindles that dream. But maybe it's too shriveled up at this point.

It's not like I haven't tried. I HAVE. I've even posted new strictly fantasy stories up for critique and received encouraging reviews, but that spark is still gone. I don't know how to get it back.

My 5K is April 16. After that I'm going to really dig in and focus on my writing. This dream may deferred, but I'm not giving up on it.