When the pandemic made its way to the states, I shuddered with worry, just like the rest of the world. Slowly, we adjusted, made sacrifices, and moved forward. I never thought it would disrupt my writing.
I had found myself wondering how to cope with this new normal. I thought, "Hey, now I have all the time in the world to devote to my writing, to concentrate on my fourth book.” Boy was I stupidly wrong.
I instead had no choice but to find work, anywhere and doing what I could to survive. That unfortunately left me depleted at the end of each work day and exhausted all the others. How could that be though? I was suddenly finding that the reality of life had pounded at my doorstep with such gusto that it was willing to cause me strife in my artistic, personal endeavors?
Well, after nearly a year of trying to write one sentence, let alone another chapter, I was eager to find a way to burrow out of my hibernated state. I forced myself to journal. It was ludicrous and had nothing to do with my Harley Dodge series but proved therapeutic. In the end, it was just the medicine to get up and keep going. I finally had a breakthrough and am happily back at it, as it were.
I guess what I'm trying to say is, I never gave up; I just learned how to readjust to outside influences that will inevitably collide with artistic pursuits. Just don't tell my brain I said that it’s nearly impossible to predict the next collision.
Happy pursuits, y'all!