One of the roughest parts of getting through a day is the realization that not matter what you do, nothing seems to motivate you. Soda? Not working. Exercise? Not working. Two ounces of coke off of a prostitute’s ass (okay, metaphorically, but still…)? Not working.
Though I’ll forgive Charlie Sheen for the advice. He really did have good intentions.
Writing is both a joyful escape from reality and a big, nasty chore that sometimes you really don’t want to do. It combines that wonderful, freeing “I’m a writer!” feeling with the crushing realization of “Crap, now people want more books and I’m tapped out at the moment.” Which is a good thing, people.
Well, the people wanting more books part at least. Being tapped out sucks.
So… self-motivation is needed, but you’re all out of ideas. What do you do?
Me? I crank up the music, drink lots of soda, snort massive amounts of coke from a hooker’s ass and get to work (editor’s note: what the hell is he doing today? Coke? Hooker’s? How big was that royalty check, anyways?) on the latest project.
This was all in jest, naturally. I can’t afford a hooker.
Born in Orange, California, author Jason Cordova has written books ranging from the fantastical realms of fantasy to the militaristic side of science fiction. His latest should be out soon. Really. You should probably buy it. Check Amazon. Demand it at your local store. Pay for his kitten kibble.