To say that I have been a procrastinator since November 2020 is an understatement. COVID-19 is the major reason since I was sick along with my family. We did recover (me very quickly), but it took more time than we thought for others. My husband, God bless him, still suffers from breathing issues, especially in the severe cold. The doctor said that his lungs were weakened, and it will take several months for them to heal.
The fact that my favorite website Booksiesilk.com for posting my latest writing has been on the fritz has been a real bummer. I was so sick of dealing with glitches week after week that I stopped visiting the site for a while. Writing a short story, a poem, or posting chapters to the books I tinker with is as routine as drinking a couple of English Breakfast tea in the morning. In fact, I admit that for a solid month, I avoided writing altogether (even offline). Instead, I picked up a game controller for the PS4 and immersed myself in the RPG video game Assasin's Creed: Valhalla. I'm a sucker for a good story, and the Assassin's Creed franchise has never disappointed in its blending of historical events with its fiction.
Learning new things about the world's past, present, and future, as well as other perspectives, is a huge draw for me. From my curiosity stems interest in lots of areas where history and science are the focus. Some of it could be interpreted as obsessive nerdiness. I love exercising both my creative and analytical sides in equal measure.
Storytelling stands amongst my favorite fascinations as well as reading. Frankly, in the same boat with writing is reading others' work on Booksie, Booksiesilk, Wattpad, or Inkitt. I know. Shame. Shame. I try to get back into the groove of these activities but do not feel motivated. In fact, if anything, I feel exhausted at the prospect.
I've never stopped working during the whole pandemic. My day job has kept me as busy as ever, and taking breaks from it to do other things outside of my house has been challenging. I gather that some people wish that they had this problem, and I am not complaining. No one would listen anyway. The point is that I'm fried mentally and emotionally like everyone around the world must be when you look at current events, especially in the USA. Everyone wants and needs the world to go back to normal. The pessimist in me believes we never will. How could we?
We live in a post COVID world, which already is changed from the pre-COVID existence. No close gatherings. No touching, hugging, or kissing. Masks even though you are not a robber no matter the season. Ugh. All the things I loved doing to show I cared has crippled me.
I consider the alteration of social norms a lot like the 9-11 event. Before that terrorist attack, Americans went about their lives in a different bubble than the rest of the world. After that attack on US soil, it changed everyone's perspective on life in general. No longer were American citizens naive to believe that their enemies could not reach them in a fundamental way that changed the outlook of everything.
Once again, Americans persevere. They will adapt to the new reality. What other choice is there?
A blanket of snow is my landscape these days. With it comes the good and the bad. The good? A coating of white outlines the bare branches, bark of trees, and houses in the distance. I am stunned by how the sun turns the sky such gorgeous pink hues in the morning. It is cold enough to freeze a tear on my eyelashes. Regardless, I love sitting on my porch and communing with nature anytime. Just the other day, I sat still as a tree when a robin sought rest on my knee. I almost felt like one of those fairytale princesses who communicates with the animals, her only friends away from her scary step-mother.
The irony of it all is that being around other people continues to be a no-no. Unless you happened to have a chosen few in your "bubble" of trust where everyone has been vaccinated for COVID, traveling is frowned upon and worst if crossing state lines. God only knows when these restrictions will end and the number of deaths stop rising. Vaccinations take time to be administered and to work. Folks require time to build up immunity to the virus and all its mutations.
We need to strap in and take our medicine, in other words. It's nasty. We'll bitch and moan about it. In the long run, it will make us feel better. No matter what form it takes, we need to do it for the good of all and ourselves.
Even with writing, I must make the same consideration. I need to strap in and just write. That's right! Grin and open wide! I need to take my writing medicine. Otherwise, I risk heading off to sleep like Brier Rose. Okay, maybe not for a 100-year nap as she did in the old Grimm fairytale, but closer to 10 years in comparison. A part of me sleeping for a decade, though? A shiver goes down my back since that sounds like a tiny death. It scares me because I fear losing an aspect of expressing myself that I love.
Crafting is slow as the chatter in my head is low (from those talkative people in my head demanding their stories told), yet I remain optimistic. The pandemic will not last forever. My lack of motivation for writing is only for the moment as well. Perhaps this winter season represents a cleansing of the palate? When the bloom of spring is upon us, the fertile writings may return with a flourish.
I hope and pray that's all it is. For now, I plod forward clumsily like an awkward lover out of practice. My stubbornness clings to me to finish what I started. It may take longer than I like, but I cannot stop trying.