That relentless drive pushing me forth just a couple of weeks ago has all but vanished in recent days. The light has dimmed, the steam has fizzled. This isn’t uncommon, of course. I’ve had similar rough patches time and again. Heck, a bunch of them have even inserted themselves amidst the more jolly, productive periods. Only this one feels a little more intense than the fleeting flashes of depletion I’ve witnessed in recent months. Over the last handful of days, I’ve tried mustering up images of Synthetic Empires in my mind’s eye; only they are foggy and fleeting, like memories of a stranger from my past whose characteristics I can barely recall. The end goal of this project doesn’t feel anywhere in sight, and I’ve made minimal progress in getting closer to it for what feels like a while now. I’m still on the journey, but the horizon isn’t getting any closer. I know this weekend’s intended productive streak is meant to shift this feeling, but what if it doesn’t? What if I sit before my computer monitor and the fog refuses to fade?

A part of me suspects this is just a standard wave of doubt casting over my burnt out self. After all, everyone has weeks where they struggle to properly sink their teeth into their passions. Life gets hectic, and we suddenly find ourselves with a tad too many plates to spin. That’s certainly been the case for me throughout September. The relaunch of my podcast has been fun, but it’s also been a lot of work, resulting in many late nights to meet my deadlines. Likewise, my day job has been more demanding than usual for a number of reasons. The world has yanked my attention away from Quinn and Michelle’s antics, and that’s okay. Distractions come and go. It doesn’t mean I’m doomed to be preoccupied for the remainder of days.

Be that as it may, part of me fears not coming back from this shift novel writing productivity. It’s happened before, and I’m scared it will happen again. I’ve had off-weeks and moments of rest over the years, only for projects to become distant memories as a result. Even this very story suffered from a similar fate several years prior. There was once a time when writing this out as a series of Television screenplays dominated my every thought. I was proud, excited, and engaged with the work. I poured hours of time, thought and energy into bringing those scripts to life. The next thing I knew, the passion was gone from my mind, replaced by gaming, reading, dating, and other matters.

Part of me fears the cycle repeating itself. I’ve been flapping my wings for the past several months, and I’d finally started to take flight. Am I hesitating again? Could the goblin within be trying to sabotage my chance of seeing a large-scale project through to its very end? Is the fact that I’m sat here, worrying my socks off, a sign that my previous fates are destined to return yet again?

One thing which keeps me from despairing entirely is the echo of a feeling; a vision of a future that’s packed with pride. It’s a sensation I’ve felt many times before, albeit on a much smaller scale. Each time I post a new podcast episode, blog post, or short story, a jolt of joy zaps through me. It’s that giddy exclamation of “I made this thing!” I’ve built something with nothing more than a handful of ideas and a spot of software, then distributed it to the wider world. Sometimes, I’ll just stare at a thumbnail associated with the post, chuffed in the knowledge that I finished it. Every post is a trophy, representing another successfully produced slab of content which has my name on it. It might only be an hour’s worth of audio or a few thousand words, but it’s something that stemmed from me. I made it. It’s mine.

Goodness knows what that might feel like on a far grander scale. To sit here, looking at a finished novel available for purchase would surely amplify that sensation tenfold. It wouldn’t just be a piece of text conveying my opinions on a movie or TV show; it would be an entire world I’d built from the ground up. Tens of thousands of words’ worth of a universe born within my own brain. Thinking the intensity of such a feeling floods me with unending delight. Even just typing about it now is getting my heart racing. The work wouldn’t even need readers or revenue to ignite that kind of glee within me; just knowing I’d built something as substantial as a feature-length story would be enough to ignite the elation.

I must cling to this feeling. Never mind the writer’s block or the less creative periods; abandoning this story will only serve to delay a joyous milestone yet again. I cannot give up, not when there’s a chance of seeing my work finished and published for the world to see. I’ve been tired and busy in recent times, and the fiction writing isn’t pouring out as a result, but I can’t let that deter me. Better creative days lie ahead. The journey hasn’t ended; it’s simply slowed while my batteries recharge.