It’s March 23, 2022. 8:00pm. An electrician just finished updating the lamp in your office, and our bathroom renovation is starting in about two weeks. You’re finally starting to feel like yourself again. You’re 80,000 words into your novel, and you’re beginning to get depressed.

You haven’t admitted it to anyone, but you’re worried about getting so pre-occupied with writing that you’ll stop caring about everything else around you. That’s how it used to be. Back in high school up until your early 20s; when writing was the only reprieve from the relentless chaos of your life.

You finished outlining the first and second book this week, but when you started outlining the third one you paused. It was always going to be a three part story, but for some reason seeing the framework is making you panic.

You haven’t written in two days.