Great minds discuss ideas; average minds discuss events; small minds discuss people. - Eleanor Roosevelt

Thursday, April 29, 2010

A thought to round out a sick day.

They're just four books, the one on top, the smallest, being the most scary, but they have so much power...

I'm feeling groggy, I'm having to squint to avoid feeling the strain that the computer screen is causing my eyes to feel, and I'm also feeling slightly feverish.

I'm sick, ladies and gentlemen.

My body feels drained, I've been drinking fluids like they're going out of style and finding things to keep my mind off the things I don't want to think about; such thoughts being brought on by being somewhat idle, considering how difficult it is to sit in front of the computer and produce anything of value.

This illness came at the worst possible time, motivationally speaking. You see, just before I fell into this uncomfortable abyss, I was feeling pumped, ready to get really serious about getting my writing out there, into the hands of publications that still print on paper and pay their contributors. I even went to the library and checked out tomes with contact information of every publication under the sun (within the United States, anyway) and was planning on spending a large chunk of my coming days looking through, getting pointers on how to be successful at such endeavors and finding my market. I planned on spending other chunks of those days working diligently toward filling those spaces I'm sure are just waiting for my writing to fill them.

Well, the motivation went down some, and it's probably just the fluids, or the Nyquil I took last night, or maybe just the fever, but I felt discouraged most of today. I even resorted to watching a movie during a time when I could've been doing the things I had set out to do just days ago. I felt completely defeated and helpless in the face of all those obstacles that have succeeded for years at keeping me from doing the things I've always known I needed to be doing.

It's days like this that make me look at all the information, the resources, the tools available to me to get my writing seriously going somewhere seriously good, and feel complete and absolute fear. The small pile of books I got from the library sits next to my bed, staring me down, daring me to crack them open and get any more overwhelmed than I already feel.

I've exhausted myself in this fight, so much so that I am going to call it a night. But despite the horrible feelings I had all day, I have succeeded in giving myself the strength to go to bed and know that tomorrow will be completely different: a lot more productive.

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