So you might remember a few days ago I thought the solution to my writerly troubles was tea, sleep, and a deep breath?
Spoilers: I was wrong.
I don’t understand my brain.
I spent an entire weekend trying to peck out the draft of a short story I had a deadline for and fought my way through maybe 2,000 words. I was exhausted and it was like wading through knee-deep mud. Or cake batter. Whichever you prefer.
I ditched that for the evening and started something new based on half a line that popped into my head. Just to “relax.”
Then I tripped out 1300 words without even trying in an hour and a half.
There’s just something not fair about that. But I have a completed 4,000-odd word first draft tonight that I started on Sunday, so I’m not going to complain too loudly.
And to ice the cake, this was my sixth attempt at writing for this deadline. As in I have the beginnings, ranging from less than a paragraph to a few thousand words of five different failed story attempts in addition to the one I finally drafted. Everything from high fantasy to historical fiction (with magic, mind you) to ghost stories.
Can I say how happy I am I finally found something that works? Urban fantasy to the rescue (again)!
It’s a huge relief. Now I just have to edit and revise and tenth-guess myself until it’s polished smooth as a gemstone. But I have written from the beginning to the end. I can breathe a little. A little.
So now I’m listening to the Hadestown musical soundtrack (how did I not know about this thing? How? And what bizarre lovliness is it?) and starting The Mortal Instruments series. The book is dancing a careful line between awesome and a touch annoying. A very careful line.
Ever had a similar struggle? Don’t believe in writer’s block? Leave me a comment and make my day.