I just finished a serious of articles for a client on how parents can communicate effectively with their teenagers. It was fun and inspiring, the client was extremely pleased. And it was very satisfying to be able to bring so much of what I’ve learned in the last year about emotional intelligence and human interaction into a work of non-fiction that will go on to actually be used in the real world to achieve something. And to get paid for it (and tipped!).
But damn if I’m not as sick as hell about writing about nurturing and caring and building empathy. Yes, yes, I love and respect and espouse all of that, blah blah blah. But I feel like everyone neuron in my brain has been soaked in feel-juice to the point of supersaturation and bursting.
Right now, I really want to write an e-book called Psychological Torture for Fun and Profit, and thus hurl it out into the universe. That’s what I want to do.
On the plus side, apparently my solution to too much writing is that I immediately go and write about how I want to do more writing. Evil writing, but still writing.
Maybe…I’m moving in the right direction with this whole writing thing. Just maybe.