So, yesterday, I got thoroughly sick of myself. The first thing I did was go for a walk. Sitting on my ass all the time was definitely on the list of things irritating me about myself. The walk helped. Later, I emailed one of my unfinished books to myself and I'm reading that now so I can get the swing of it and finish it. (Not saying which one because I don't want to get anyone's hopes up - including my own.) It's still as good as I thought it was. I just need to get out of my own way and complete it.
I'm just reading it right now. I mean, I do have a notebook handy in case I need to write down ideas, but I'm trying not to do that. I just want to approach it like any reader would without picking at it. Which is harder than you might think. This is a first draft, after all, and there are tons of typos. I just have to keep reminding myself that this isn't an edit pass and let the typos go. I'll catch up with them all again later.
Funny thing is that I can't seem to remember why I never finished this. It's at like 78K words and that's about 2/3rds done, if I remember right. I think it might've been the fear of finishing it and not having the ability to get a cover made for it. Yeah, that's kind of stupid, but it's where my brain goes. I also vaguely remember wondering whether this should be one book or several and how to break it into separate books and... But I don't want to focus on any of that right now because I do want to finish this book this time. And the last thing I need right now is getting derailed by my own neuroses again.
So, I'm reading. And I'm liking what I'm reading. And that's really the first step in getting back to this writing thing.
I'll walk some more today. Get the fresh air through the system and blow out the gaskets. Try to find the positives and work toward them once more. It's really all I can do.