Sometimes, when I sit down to write, I want to do anything but. I can’t focus; I can’t get my head into any of the story ideas that are swirling around.
More often than not, it’s not that I don’t want to write or that I’ve hit a block, it’s that I’ve gone too long without writing.
I’m at this stage now.
I have plenty of ideas-tons of ideas-in fact, I just figured out a small bit of my novel last night. But when I sit down with the pen and paper in front of me, I stare. Doesn’t matter if it’s blank or if I’ve written something-anything-on it. I stare.
In part, this is because Rob and I went to Boskone over the weekend. I never get anything written at cons, no matter how much I might try. Also a part of it is that I’ve been trying to outline and plot some short stories. I usually don’t do that. Hell, I almost never do that.
My process tends to be more that I write through the first quarter, or less, of a story and then start in on the world building and planning. Because I’ve only written shorts in college, I’ve been trying to plan and outline before writing.
This sometimes ends up killing the story for me because I know how it’ll end. I know what happens beginning to end, and I have no interest in finding out how I got there. At least for a little while. Then the ideas and seeds start to grow, and I’ve regained my interest in finding out what’s actually happened in the story.
Maybe that’s what’s happened here. But I’m supposed to be writing, because I didn’t exercise today. That I blame entirely on the frikkin construction crew working on the road in front of the house until 5:30.
…Now I only have about a half hour until dinner. And wth does the timestamp on this read an hour later than it is?