Well guys, I think the title says it all. I have a confession to make.
I got lazy. I had a few things going on, and I let the stress of writing a book in a month settle in, and I didn’t finish my book. I told myself that I lost a week to sickness, so if I gave myself a week in April it would count. But here we are, two weeks into April, and I haven’t finished.
I guess what I’m trying to say is, people who can write a novel in a month – even a first draft – are incredible. And I am currently not one of them.
I have decided to write my book, and I’m close to the end. But I have also learned that you can’t love what you do if you’re so stressed you can’t sleep. Or think. Or function. I love writing. I always have, and hopefully I always will. I have hope and faith in my novel. But for right now, I have to confess, I’m still writing.
I appreciate you all, and wish you the best on whatever you do. Don’t stress over what makes you happy.