The Writing Struggle

The hardest part of having a blog about writing is, well, writing.1806e6bff7047ece0d4f3e8418a7da5f

When I’ve spent the last three hours in the head of an involuntary assassin, or trying to untangle the mess that used to be my fantasy novel, there’s nothing I want to do more than curl up in bed with tea and a book, or ice cream and Netflix. I don’t want to write a blog post about how much writing means to me, or with tips for others who go through the same writing struggles that I do.

Then again, half the time I don’t want to write my stories either.download (2)

There’s nothing more irritating than sitting down to work on one bit of writing, only to be flooded with ideas for a story you haven’t even looked at for a month.  Or more.

People always seem to be short of ideas when they start writing.tumblr_nippn8jDAk1qk4nn7o1_500

I need to find a way to stop having so many ideas at the same time.

Like now, for example.  The original draft for this post was started before I left the country.  Now I’m going back and forth, working on this, and typing up scenes I wrote who knows how long ago for a story that I’ve barely thought about in the past year.

93feefe57671544375727cb3a1b3938cMeanwhile, I’m editing a novel, trying to find the end of another one, plotting out two more, and feeling guilty every time I start to work on one of the numerous beginnings I have jotted down in various notebooks and documents.  Not to mention the occasional spurts of poetry that seem to be happening more frequently.

I don’t even know if I have the capacity to focus on one story anymore.  I don’t know if I ever did.  My first novel, the one I’m currently editing, actually absorbed a few different story ideas along the way, morphing it into something I never could have expected.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that, so far, I haven’t discovered a “writing method”.  I feel compelled to write, and often the hardest part is figuring out what, exactly, I’m compelled to write.  It’s hard to convey the frustrating hours spent writing a few sentences here, a few there.  Staring at a page with a single solitary sentence written at the top that stops making sense as soon as you step away from the desk.  Having an idea for a scene that is half-written then having no clue which notebook it’s in.  Rearranging sentences for the sake of prepositions so often they don’t even mean anything anymore.

In short:tumblr_m6i0amn1NX1rziwwco1_500

But I wouldn’t have it any other way.

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