Motivation. What is it, where does it come from, and where does it go? (Editor’s note. This post does not try to answer this..you have to find the answer yourself). I am currently in a semi-motivated phase. At times I have been unmotivated, unmoved, and uninspired. I like to think of those times as recharging periods instead of the truth…those are hiding times. And then there are the over-productive, over-extended, overwhelming, overachieving periods. Have not had one of those for a while. Those were fun times. Then all the times in-between. Now.
I want to write that novel. I think about writing that novel. I have made lots of notes. I have written from the heart and thanks to NaNoWriMo I have got lots of material (plus some). Disorganized, fragmented. I imagine myself structuring the story, filling in the blanks, developing the characters. I lay on the couch coughing (I am at home sick this week), and think about digging up that book about character development I purchased a few years ago but have never read…I watch a movie, write an email, post something witty and silly on Facebook. But I do not go back to Scrivner to do anything with that story…the story that is going to release me and those that I love from the restraints of money. The book that is going to leave a legacy of who I am…and prove to myself that I am a writer. Not a technical writer. A creative writer, an author, with something to say, something to share with others that will help them believe in more. Like other writers, books, and movies have done for me.
Writing a blog is a start, I know. The general advice others extensively write about—that to be a success you must choose a theme and stick with it. I prefer my way. I am just writing about things that interest me, posting snapshots of my life that might give you, a total stranger (even good friends are total strangers in some ways), some insight into me, and by extension, perhaps into yourself.
Aha. This is the motivational pair of suspenders. Perhaps I am not ready to fail or succeed? Maybe I am too used to being in the middle somewhere. I know I have it in me. Whatever it is…we all have it. There are lots of stories about people overcoming it. I am not afraid of hard work, of challenges. I have been called brave and fearless by others, but inside I wonder if I am just plain stupid, willful and a little selfish. I allow the winds to carry me from place to place and I think I might just end up exactly where I started. And maybe that is what is supposed to happen. To return to the beginning, with improved vision, a greater understanding of ourselves, and others. Then, and only then, can I truly write developed characters. Since then I have become one myself.
Update. Two hours after writing this post, I dug out that book. I guess I got motivated.