Yeah so, it’s January 3rd already and I haven’t shaken off the winter blues yet. In fact, I just admitted that I have them. WTH?
It’s beautiful outside. Amy I doing anything physical and going out to enjoy the day? Nope.
There’s a list of to-be and should-be going on in my head. And I actually opened a manuscript to look at where I’d left off (over a year ago) to see if I could prime the pump and get some productive writing done. Insert annoying buzzer sound here.
I think that I’ve injured my writing muscle by studying how to plot and the moral premise stuff. Instead of thinking, “hey, the character does this and then he does that and he says such-and-such and next chapter he does this and that…” I now think, “oh god, am I doing this right? I don’t have it planned out, so it’s going to suck because I’ll have to rewrite it and rewrite it and I’ll never finish it. I don’t know what the moral premise of the story is! I don’t know how to write that. I don’t care about that.”
Maybe that’s it. I don’t care deeply or passionately about any one topic that is suggested in the moral premise books. I don’t know how to fake it either. And I’m afraid.
I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.
Maybe I should take a break until I feel like writing. The problem with that is that a real writer has endurance. A dedicated writer slogs through the stinky mental mudflats and writes and writes and writes. I fear that if I stop, it will be even harder to start again. If I let my RWA membership lapse, I’ll miss out on the community (not that I’m much of an active participant) and I’ll never make it back in. (RWA’s changing its membership rules. Now, within a year, to be an active voting member, one has to be a part of the PRO or PAN groups. Actively submitting and seeking to be published. Which is great. But I’m having trouble even finishing a scene much less getting to the point of having a completed anything to submit.) Dear fear, my friend, I wish you’d take a long hike off a short pier.
Maybe someone shot my muse. Has anyone seen her mentioned in the news? She sparkles on occasion.
So back again I go to the simple stuff. Just write. Don’t worry about getting it correct or incorrect. Don’t worry about anyone passing judgement. Don’t judge myself. Just do it. “Swoosh” as a friend said.
So. Dwight Swain: Write a sentence without the character, then one about the character.
The cheese looked particularly tempting. Carol could almost feel it, it’s creamy texture, it’s slightly sour-nutty taste. But she put that out of her mind. No cheese for you, she told herself. You are on a diet.
She pressed her nose to the deli case anyway, because it looked so enticing.
“Help you with something?”
Carol straightened up with a jolt and found the deli man looking at her, a faint trace of amusement dancing on his mouth. He was a handsome man, with unruly brown hair and startling blue eyes. She smiled and the words were out of her mouth before she could stop them.
“That Camembert. May I have a taste?”
“Certainly.” He sliced off a piece, spread it on a watercracker, and handed it to her on a little white napkin.
It was just as she’d imagined, and more. Her stomach growled loud enough for the deli man to give a little laugh.
“Good eh? How much would you like?”
Carol sighed and carefully wiped her mouth.
“Oh no, I couldn’t. I’m not supposed to each cheese. But oh I miss it.”
His smile faded in an instant.
“Seriously? You had me cut into a new round of Camembert and you are not going to buy it? What the hell lady?”
Carol blinked and felt her face turn red.
“I, ah, I’m sorry. I thought I could just get a taste.”
The man looked puzzled.
“Tasting is fine. Can I interest you in something else? There is a nice Brie here, or a Gouda?”
Another customer came in.
“Think about it. I’ll be right back. Nutbar.”
Carol belatedly realized that the deli man hadn’t actually said that last part.
Shaking, she picked up her package and made her way to the door while the deli man’s attention was elsewhere. She escaped outside before bursting into tears.