I was sitting around earlier today feeling sorry for myself because I've had so much editing work to do that I haven't had a chance to do any of my own writing. It's been almost a month since I've written anything at all on the three pieces I am currently working on (a screenplay about a rock band, a semi-autobiographical novel about a woman surviving a coma, and a book about a woman who strikes back at her bullies).
Oh, and for the record, I wrote Words for Water long before I heard of the new Avatar movie, The Way of Water. This happens to me all the time. If my husband and others hadn't read my book, I wouldn't even tell anybody about the time I wrote a book about a wizard who didn't know he was a wizard. I quit writing it when the first Harry Potter book came out :)
I have written a couple of poems that were very well-received when I read them to some of our local writers at the Civic Media Center. The CMC has a poetry jam on Thursday nights, and it's one of the longest continuously running poetry jams in the country. So much amazing talent there. Even though I was a nervous wreck, I went ahead and read my work last week, and it was very well received. I've also written a couple of short stories recently and plotted out some other stories, so it hasn't been a total loss these past couple of months.
And then I realized something else. During the pandemic, I have managed to get quite a bit of writing done. I wrote three screenplays, finished two books of short stories, and a book of poetry. Not a total loss. We introverts usually manage to celebrate being alone in whatever creative way we can. I think I did okay for someone stuck at home for so long...