Needs to write more…

I wonder a lot if all writers go through blocks. Not a writers block. Just a block in general.

I have been finished with the story for nearly a year but yet I am only up to chapter four in corrections. The first set of corrections. I honestly feel as if I should be further along than what I am. What makes it worse is that I haven’t been writing anything else, either.

Writers are supposed to write.
Writers are supposed to read.

I cannot seem to do either.

The last book I remember reading was the third book in the Gabriel trilogy by Sylvian Reynard. I read that right after it came out.

I took up sewing in hopes that maybe it can clear out a hole in my head that I plugged up. But all it has accomplished is now I have millions of tiny pillows in my bedroom that don’t have a purpose. Anyone need pillows?

I pretty sure I am going to put away the sewing and get back to writing. I walked through a book section in a store and all I could think, “one day my name will be on one of these books.” When? I’m not sure of that yet. But I know one day.

Writing. Novel. “Frost”….

After two years of writing I finally finished the rough-ruff (yes, that’s exactly how I have decided to spell it) of my novel “Frost”. I have been waiting patiently for the day I was able to say that, but now that I am & have, I’m a little on the scared side. When you’re writing it it’s still a secret in your mind. Planning out everything & then putting them to words. The moment you’re able to tell people that you’re done and on to the editing process people get excited.

But now I go into the editing process I wonder to myself, “is this going to be any good?” I’m trying so hard not to toss it into the trash and running away like a coward but it’s extremely hard.

After I finished the rough-ruff draft I decided to sit and scan the whole story – basically rereading what I had forgotten that I had wrote. To me, yes, I still find a few clever things I had written and I got all excited. But then I wonder, do I find it clever and good because I wrote it? Or do I find it good because it’s actually good. My wondering mind seems to go all over the place – crazily. Maybe I should stop wondering.

Either way I have been working way too long just to throw it away, so that’s not an option. I’m going to continue and I’m going to edit, etc, until I am completely satisfied with what I have written, even if it turns out to be complete crap. Then one day – hopefully, get published. Maybe. I might just keep my first novel in a box in the back of my closet and let it collect dust.

Dear Imaginary Friends,

I’m not sure if I’m still suffering from writers block, or if my imaginary friends are quiet. Or possibly I’m attempting to write stuff that I’m not meant to write? Is that even possible? Can a person only be able to write one form of writing about certain subjects & the rest are completely off limits? Would Stephen King be able to write romance? Would Nora Roberts be able to write a thriller? Is it possible for James Patterson to write a science fiction? (If any of them have, it’s throws my theory out. I am not well read in all of their books.))

But as I sit here I think of the novel I’ve been working on since November of 2012 & I wonder to myself, am I trying something that is impossible for me to write? People always tell me that I am capable of writing anything I put my mind to. But am I? Honestly. But then I wonder even more than that, am I really the writer I think I am? I feel like if I were I would have more writings that are finished.

Maybe I am still trying to find excuses as to why I don’t write more. Last night I opened up my novel & wrote three paragraphs & then when I was finished, I sat back in my chair & wondered if I even liked what I had wrote. Do all writers go through this? I’m almost to the point of cutting off a finger.. or two. Pull a Picasso and cut my ear off. But instead of whatever he did – I would put mine in a box & mail it to someone. Who? I don’t know. Who on this planet would want my ear? I’m joking – mostly.

Honestly, at this point, I have no idea what I’m even talking about. It’s seven o’clock in the morning & I haven’t been to sleep. My head is foggy & my body is exhausted. All I want is to sleep – however, sleep isn’t my friend at the moment. I know that throughout the day my mind is still on the same thing.. writing. I still carry a trillion pens, & fifteen hundred notebooks in my purse. I think if I were to dig I’d find a notebook in my car. You know, just in case. I still find myself going out in public with friends and writing on napkins when something hits and I need to write it down. I still find myself watching or reading something thinking, oh yeah, I need to make a note of that. It could come in handy for something I could write in the future. All of the articles I read of writers & authors, they all sound like me. Everything they say they feel or do – I find it’s exactly what I do or feel. I love to write. ((Even simple things like a blog. Even though I don’t write as much as I used to.)) I just can’t always seem to get the words flowing as easily as I did. Like when I was between the ages of seventeen & nineteen. To be quite frank, if I had started a novel at seventeen, I would probably have finished it. But at seventeen, I had no idea what I liked or wanted to do with my life. I didn’t realize writing was it until I was in my twenties.

I just need to take it day by day. One day at a time. Day. By. Day. I can’t expect the novel to write itself or me write it in three days. It takes time. I even know this. Common sense. But there will always be a part of me that believes it shouldn’t take YEARS to write a novel especially if you already have the outline of it.

I have faith in myself, always have – I will finish this novel. When? That I have no idea. But I will. Hopefully before I’m thirty, but at this rate, I honestly don’t know that.

I have always been good at working through problems. That is what I have right now. A problem. So I will trudge on and work through my problem. Hopefully, I will fix it soon. But I could always write more of these, at least then I know I’d still be writing, even if it isn’t on my story.

Luck. I need luck.

The Day Inspiration Struck Me ::

Daily Prompt :

Tell us about a time you’d been trying to solve a knotty problem — maybe it was an interpersonal problem, a life problem, a big ol’ problem — and you had a moment of clarity when the solution appeared to you, as though you were struck by lightening.

First I wouldn’t say it was a problem but I can remember a moment in 2012 when I was hit by “lightning”. Since I was 19, when I decided I wanted to write, I had been trying to figure out what I wanted to write a novel over. I have had many idea’s through the last few years and was never able to put the thoughts onto paper. In 2012 I was a step away from deciding that maybe – maybe – I am not supposed to write and was nearly ready to stop trying.

November 30, 2012 (yes, I can remember the date & place) I was sitting on my brothers couch visiting him and his wife when I felt like something hit me with what I was missing to finally write a novel. The story played through my mind like a movie. Frame by frame – perfectly. After finally coming back to reality I quickly left – not sure that I even said bye. I took off home (running across the street, I didn’t have far to go) and sat down at my laptop and for six hours, into December 1st, I wrote out the plan of the story. How it would start, what would happen throughout it, and how it would end. When I finished the outline I felt like I had accomplished something without actually accomplishing anything. I knew, from that day on, I’d have a rocky path ahead of me. Everyone’s first book is usually a long process and it can take a couple years.

I made myself a goal – one I sadly didn’t meet – that I would be completely done with the first draft a year after I started writing the book. I’m not sure if that was unrealistic, but I wanted that. However, now that it’s been a year and I am still working on the first draft I have accepted that. Not saying I honestly like it, but I’m okay with it. I suppose you cannot rush greatness! Eh.

Right now as I sit here typing this I have wrote the beginning and the end. The middle is giving me problems. My sandwich isn’t coming together very well – I am missing the bologna. Right now I have a dry cheese sandwich and I’m needing the rest. I’m on chapter twelve and I’m stuck. But I will finish this book. I have faith in myself. Especially now that I have accepted and decided that I need to write this for myself and not everyone else. This book is for me.