I’m ashamed, I disappeared again and left my blog unattended for so long, but there was very good reason for it. 😦
I’m not good at bragging and it annoys me beyond comprehension, when it’s done by people to the extent that you don’t want your life anymore, for the most menial of achievements. (I know what one does is important). It’s been years since I published my first novel and ever since then all I wanted to do was write another one. And I did; write it again and again but was never happy with it. In the end I lost the momentum and let it die. Time went by and my dream seemed to move further and further away. I was writing, but random things, short stories, nothing cohesive, or satisfactory in any way. Initially I attributed it to writer’s block, (the most common of excuses)
and then to full-time work (the other common excuse).
I envied people with no jobs, with plenty of time in their hands. In my case, though, to give myself some credit, I also did 2 hours of French lessons every week, two hours of Spanish, an hour at the gym at least three times a week and a boyfriend with whom, I obviously wanted to spend time. Still though not valid excuses.
It was last September (2012) when I woke up one morning (not literally) with an idea that begged to be put on paper and so I started writing once more, what seemed to be the endless book. Without realising how it happened though, (it actually took a lot of work and determination) I finished the first draft and the second one. Now on my third one, I have printed it out for the last reading (I can’t read on-screen for very long) and suddenly I felt that satisfaction of having done something worthwhile. Not only because I managed to write another book that makes me smile when I read it, that has a story I would like to read, but mostly because it was proof, it can be done, with a full-time job and all the rest of the tasks of daily life. I feel proud and here it is, the pile of my pride.