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!
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