Writing the first draft is a wondrous experience for the most part. You have all these ideas swirling around you that you want to incorporate: characters that seem cool, smart, funny, and sexy; places that will make your readers long to travel there (or stay as far away from it as possible); a plot so Machiavellian, you wonder if you should be examined by a psychologist… The possibilities are limitless.
This week has been absolutely wonderful. I’ve had a chance almost every day to sit down and either write or edit and I couldn’t be happier about it. It goes without saying; being able to get your feelings and thoughts down on paper is a cathartic experience. When I have days (sometimes weeks) where I don’t have time to write, I start to get very upset and am often sad. This entire ordeal with la maison (yes, I found one!) has kept me on the go for several weeks, driving hither and thither to check on inspections and take education courses and sign documents. It’s all well worth it; I’ve just missed my time to myself.
I’m currently experiencing one of my worst bouts with the evil beast known as Writer’s Block. I have tried time and time again to work on this specific project of mine but find that it’s hard for me to put myself into the scene. No matter the music I listen to (or don’t listen to), no matter the mood I’m in, and no matter how much cleaning I do to try and facilitate some ideas, I just can’t seem to get a grip on what I want to write.
So I’ve made it to that pivotal moment where one has to force themselves to do it and deal with the crappiness of its quality just to get going.
Sometimes, I forget it doesn’t have to be perfect.
First, it needs to be finished. There is always an after event for editing where one can rip the guts out of a book and put everything back together the way it’s meant to be.
This isn’t that time. Sometimes, it is impossible to find inspiration to work on something no matter what you do. Only one thing can be done.