Over the last few days, I've been struck by an air of pointlessness. I can't remember the reason why I do things. I know the rational reason, but I can't find the emotion that pulls me forward to write.

Right now, even, writing these lines is very hard. I have so many ideas, but I tell myself: "what's the point of typing them down? It's a waste of energy and space"

And it makes me angry with myself. I know very well that I want to write, and that I become very satisfied when I've made a story. Looking back and reading my fiction gives me joy. But right now, writing feels like a burden. And it's not like I'm doing anything else; it's the only thing I can do until I solve some issues that will allow me to keep moving forward with my life.

I'm not feeling it. However, that doesn't matter. I'm not one to let myself be destroyed by my own feelings of inadequacy. I push forward regardless. I set myself goals and tasks, and I see the big picture and create a strategy. One of these strategies is to have a word goal. Right now, even though I'm pausing after each sentence or phrase, I'm looking at the counter. I'm at 227 words. A decently-sized article would be at a minimum of 500 words long. Therefore, I can't stop.

Fiction goals

After writing this, I have other similar goals to fulfil. I've created a fictitious world and I need some stories to go with it. I already know the composition of this world and I need to create many characters and civilisations. At least a few. Then, the hardest part has been to create a satisfying plot.

Plots come in many shapes and forms. Many are ridiculously simple and I close any book that has them; others are delicious and even if I don't like the writing style, I read it to the end out of respect for the writer (same with good worldbuilding). My favourite plots are the ones that go against the grain and what's popular. However, I've written so many stories that I already have a portfolio of plots from all colours of the rainbow. I'm left with this feeling that anything I do, I've already done, or it doesn't matter because I'm just making random formulas and filling them.

I'll push forward anyway. Until I'm done with this feeling of triviality, I can't give myself a break. Accepting failure is fatal for any kind of success. I've done it and it has destroyed many chances. Now, ever since I do things this way, I've accomplished much more in a couple of years than in the rest of my life. Therefore, onwards!

As a goal, I set myself a bit of homework. I will publish a piece of fiction of 1000 or more words within a period of 24 hours. Wish me luck!

edit: Funnily all readers have different word counts. Busy editor shows 500 words, Busy reader shows 501 and Steempeak reader shows 497.