On writing: Burnt out

There comes a time when life seems upside down. When you suddenly stop doing the things that you love to do. For me, that’s reading a book or finding some time to write a few sentences for the book I’m writing.

So, I’m there, at that part of my life and I feel hanging in the air, but as the blood floods my brain, I realize the reason.

It stopped being fun.

When I read a book, all my senses are heightened. I focus on the words and it’s like watching a movie. But lately there’s only blackness. I can’t see the MC, or when I do see him, it’s only a flash of him which is not enough to make me keep reading. And I stop and ask myself: why is this happening?

I cannot concentrate on the story since the words dance before my eyes and I desperately try to catch them. Have you felt like this before? What did you do?

To end this torture, I decided that I’d do it differently. Usually I read on the road to work, so this weekend, I isolated myself in my bedroom and I read. And it actually worked. In the absence of noise, lying on the bed with a hot cup of coffee, I felt the long forgotten happiness of reading a good book.

And I want that, I missed that, as I miss the butterflies in my stomach as I create.

So this is what I did wrong: 

I counted on borrowed time to read or write.

I didn’t choose the right book to match my mood, but I started reading everything that caught my eye.

I stopped brainstorming about my story.

I held back my emotions and didn’t write them down.

I blame tiredness and exhaustion, but deep down I know that it’s just me. If you do want to do something you make time and I just let time pass by, occupying myself with other stuff.

I am burnt out, but I try to stand on my feet again and finish writing that book. Until then, I’ll just write down my thoughts hoping to wake up the butterflies.

What about you?