Ugh, everyone.
Last week was a disaster as far as writing productivity goes. There are weeks where the whole point of this journal is to publicly flagellate myself to get back on track.
This journal is one of those events. The reason or reasons for this rubbish I’ll get into later here.
For now, let’s just talk numbers.
Writing statistics for the week ending 14 June 2025:
Words: 2,238
Days writing: 4 of 7.
Days revising or planning: 0 of 7 for 0 minutes.
Daily Writing Goals Met (500+ words or 30 minutes of planning/revisions): 4 of 7 days.
So, by all metrics, worse than last week, which was not really that great either.
I could tell you I’ve been waiting for the proof of The Yank Striker’s Journey to arrive from my publisher and that’s been throwing me off. This would be an accurate statement.
I could say I was trying to figure out where to go regarding my sequel to my first book, the journalism thriller The Holy Fool, set in the present day. But, I already have a really good idea what to write next, because I’ve already outlined what I want to do with the story, which I’m keeping short.
I could talk about how I’m not going to get started on the next Yank Striker book, and that would be accurate. But would it really explain why I haven’t written as much as I should have? If I just wanted to juice the numbers, I could get back to some of this fan fiction that’s been sitting dormant for a while.
But in all honesty, I’ve been sitting on the couch, the chair, staring at the big screens or the pocket screens of my phone, trying to distract myself from anything except for the need to write. In all honesty, I’ve been living the life of a functional derelict, bumming around my house and my town while blanking on what I need to do. If there is a way to avoid work and other similar problems, I probably tried it during the past two weeks. 😅
In the end, I just need a good kick in the rear at this point from my disappointments and embarrassments from not getting the job done the way I can do, the way I know I’m capable of. I’ve wasted enough time in my life, even recognizing I’ll waste some more time before I shuffle off the mortal coil.
I was idly thinking of different things recently and it came to mind if I purchased something around the neighborhood of 20 ISBN numbers, I would have enough numbers to cover all of the books I would write for the remainder of my life. Whenever you get to a certain point of your life and calculate you will only do something for a finite number of times is a clear acknowledgement of your mortality, and it’s the honest truth.
That’s it, everyone. Everyone take care of yourselves, and all you writers keep writing and all you creatives keep creating.
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