I’ve got the desire to write the book; I can sort of see the outcome in my mind. The two issues are (a) I’m exhausted after work every day and “write a book” is not exactly my top priority, and (b) I don’t like what I’m writing, particularly.
It’s the damndest thing. I’m a good writer, normally, and I’m I think a better editor — good at setting and maintaining a tone, good at finding a voice and sticking to it. This, though, it’s eluding me.
I think the only sane responses to the above are
(a) You’re committed to the Master’s now, dummy, so you’re going to be writing whether you like it or not, and this is like Rocky at the Philly Museum of Art — I gotta run these steps to get ready for the main event.
(b) Think less, write more. Get out of my own head and stop trying to be clever; just get the words on the (electronic) page.
I also don’t like writing in my office, which is weird. I literally just stopped typing to move my monitors back six inches to see if that helps. This isn’t an environment that I feel relaxes me, which is kind of indicative of a relationship with this office that maybe I need to look at.