Wow, I don’t even know if I should be writing right now! It’s the hottest day of the year here on the East Coast, and I just tried to spend 30 minutes up on my roof. Bad idea. A little sun is great for getting writing going, but too much and you’re fried. It’s a delicate balance.
It’s the end of the month, which means—with a ‘clean date’ of November 29th, 2022—I have eight months sober. This has far and away been the best month of the eight so far. Work is the love of my life, and I worked my fucking ass off in July. For me, work isn’t just the writing I get done. It’s the physical push I make every day as well.
I always work. What I’m really looking for, though, is that special place where my mind gets hooked on it. We all know how after a few weeks of regular exercise, your body gets hooked on the dopamine boost—and so you crave working out, and do it with very little psychological effort.
Writing—that incredibly intimidating, difficult, overwhelming, scary task that freaks me out all of the time despite the fact that I do it for a living—is the same way. But if you really get into a routine, and you nail your writing goal every day…honey, that dopamine hit is better than any narcotic.
You don’t have to have an addictive personality to get addicted to writing—though maybe it helps. I’m over here loving working on my rough draft (I've written 10 out of 24 chapters). I only can do an hour every morning—just like I can only work out an hour every day—but I always do it. And when it’s done, I have all day to fuck around.