Burnout

I’ve written a lot this year: most of a 110,000 word novel, five blog posts and 43,000 words towards three other books. Now I’m burned out and can’t even edit my novel’s second draft. I am angry that I can’t do it.

I probably shouldn’t be. When you’re a writer, there’s a guilt that it’s “not a real job” and you can push yourself hard until your brain is fried. There are three days in the week set aside for writing and I’ll work for up to twelve hours sometimes.

This year, I tried extra hard; I wanted to push myself to achieve something. This hard graft began on 1st January until early June. It’s the fastest I’ve ever completed a novel’s first draft. But my editor has added suggestions to half of it, and it’s just sitting here next to me as I try to motivate myself.

If I could push myself before, I can push myself now, right?

The novel is set in Los Angeles, so here’s a photo I took in Pershing Square which was very sketchy indeed.