I finally decided that it was time to really work at being a writer thanks to an amazing experience I had just over a month ago. Well, really it was the aftermath that spurred me to greatness. Don’t worry; this is not sex-related.
I let myself get sucked into something that then blew up in my face and I got emotionally hurt pretty badly by someone I trusted. That hurt turned to anger and that anger became productivity (the productivity has not so far led to the dark side).
Basically, a great swelling bubble of righteous indignation rose up in me like Cthulu from the deeps. I swore I would show this person what I’m capable of and that I would even dedicate my published book to them:
for making me so angry I stopped procrastinating
I think that by the time I finish a book and edit and publish, I will be less angry. I will probably have someone better or something more mature to dedicate my book to, but for now whenever I feel myself flagging, I remind myself of what happened. And my fingers fly over the keys.
…Accompanied by angry muttering.