As of Saturday, I’ve been blogging here for three years.  I wasn’t online much over the weekend, I was kind of busy eating baked goods in an art gallery and then laughing because I know during this show.

I planned to write when we got home, but I found myself watching Breaking Bad instead.

I got up at 5 am on Sunday, and was depressed for the rest of the day.  I needed ice-cream and a stupid movie so I twisted Neil’s arm for Red 2 and Ben & Jerry’s.

And then, at the pub, Neil dumped a beer on me. By accident.  I called him a sonofabitch.  Maybe not by accident, but with all the love in the world.  Because it was refreshing.

I planned to write when we got home, but found myself reading crime fiction set in Iceland instead.

I figure now is a good time to talk about avoidance.  Or something.  See, I have issues.  Or at least one.  The others I’ve been to therapy for.  And then I graduated.  From therapy.  One issue left.  Maybe.

See all those plans to write?  All those incomplete sentences  in half finished, but nonetheless colour-coded notebooks?  See that new-found fondness for Subway Surfers?  Yeah.  Best laid plans of writers and Lorn.

The issue of the issue, or the thing I tell myself to make it OK, or not, is that if it sounds like writing, I stop doing it.  If my characters stop talking to me, I don’t put words in their mouths.  If the story stops playing out like a movie in my head, I change the channel.

The next idea is going to be THE ONE book I finish. The next app I find is going to be THE ONE that leads me to THE END.  And then another one.

And then I get the bright spark that if I smush plot 5 with character 68 and story arc 20-never, I’ll get something new.  And I just shuffle stuff about and don’t actually write anything new.  Except that thing about thunderstorms.

Yesterday, while sitting in Starbucks with a coffee and without a notebook, Neil asks me to tell him a story.

‘Oh, y’know.  Mother issues.  Sibling issues.  And a goldfish.  Discuss.  Maybe.’

You’d think it would be be easy for me to sit on my ass and write.  But I need to do laps around my house.  And organise my sock drawer.

Maybe I should write about socks.  Is there an app for that?

Do you believe in writer’s block?  What do you do about it?  Next time, add a goldfish and see what happens!

Bubble Eye Goldfish

Bubble Eye Goldfish (Photo credit: Wikipedia)






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