A Sweary Little Pep Talk

February's tough honey but so are you

I absolutely promise you you are not fucking up your writing life.

I really really do.

It’s February now, and February is a rough month to be a mammal and to be a person, and this February is a rough month to be a person in what looks already like it’ll be a rough year to be a person. And it’s so easy to fall into the trap of counting. Two months nearly gone of this year and I haven’t written my novel. Five years since I left uni and I haven’t finished my novel. I turn thirty next year and I haven’t written my novel. I said I’d finish my novel before I had kids but now I’m pregnant and I didn’t finish my novel. I’m forty, I’m fifty, I’m sixty, I’m seventy, and I didn’t. Finish. My Novel. 

I swear that this is bullshit. It really doesn’t matter at all.