Writing with A.D.D. is a true struggle.
When it comes to creating it can be fun, and by fun I mean beautiful dysfunction. Stories might read something like “The man on the moon cried over global warming, but enjoyed life anyway knowing the key to quantum physics.” See the deepest part of me finds this sentence AWESOME! It feels good to my soul. I can see the world, feel the pain and enjoy the journey to optimism appreciated any way it can come.
However, the logical part of me that co-exists with other people on this earth knows that there is way too much going on in this line. I not only need to discipline my time in writing, when it comes to writing a book it takes a great deal of strength and effort to focus on a single thought.
Articles, poems, short stories are all a fun part of my life. But to write a novel has all the A.D.D. genes bursting into laughter and a degree if giddiness over the amount of pages they feel they have room to run ramped in.
I find myself with hundreds of post-its up around me with ideas for the next book. And it takes everything I have to not stop my current story to dance in the new world that introduces itself to me.
I don’t think I am alone in this pilgrimage…and if I am, I suppose there is some comfort in knowing I do have the company of all my A.D.D. voices in my head.