This has been a week of drawing lines under things. Some things just don’t work and it’s better to move on than to wallow. And I think as writers we’re (well I’m talking about me, can’t speak for anyone else) often guilty of wallowing. Of perpetual waiting. Of plodding on and hoping that whatever it is we’re waiting for will happen, eventually. We’ve got to be, I suppose. That’s how stories and novels get written, it’s how we cope with waiting months for decisions from editors on our work.

But we can’t be like that with everything. It isn’t healthy. And carrying the weight of expectation around with us can be a bind. It can be heavy. It can be a waste of time as well.

So this week I’ve made decisions.

A long story I’ve been working on for AGES isn’t working. I left it for a months, came back to it and thought – nope. It isn’t good enough – it isn’t even particularly good. So I’ve drawn a line under it. I am not going to worry about it anymore. On with the next.

Likewise, if the local arts festival doesn’t want me to do anything for it, if the organisers aren’t going to get back to me, why should I care? If they don’t want me (which, thinking about it, has been evident on many occasions), why should I worry about it? Why would I want to be involved where I’m not wanted? So I’m not going to bother about it anymore. I’m going to get on with what I do, and that’s write stories and run workshops. I’m better at doing those things than I am at waiting and getting cross.

There. I feel better already. A weight off my mind.

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