I’ve been doing a lot of soul-searching these past few weeks after spending the summer in a funk despite hoping I’d make significant headway towards my writing and publishing goals—which, as it turns out, were nothing but vague dreams. This time last year, I was coming down from the high of having smashed out the first draft of a 65,000-word manuscript in nineteen days (read about that experience here)—and yet, twelve months later, I’m nowhere near where I wanted to be on its second draft. Despite this, over the summer I was regularly choosing to binge on Netflix and Stan rather than add another word to my manuscript, which only…