My concentration, that is. Shot. I bounce from project to project. Yesterday I eked out almost 400 words on one novel, the day before that it was 1200 on another. I outlined a short story, but can't manage to write it in a way that even makes me want to re-read it. My obsession with professionalism, with writing every day with discipline and consistency and finishing my projects, is starting to seem laughable.
Ghaaa. Maybe we're meant to take vacations between big, soul-baring, world-changing (at least theoretically) writing projects? Or maybe I'm just too distracted by dueling piano bars, searching for the perfect Indian food, and my all-too-practical Master's degree in Finance.
Well. No one ever promised me a rose garden, as they say.