That’s my state of mind right now, and it’s reallly, seriously, pardon the f-bomb, fucking frustrating to the point of rage.
Why is it so difficult to write?
Why do I find myself doing just about anything else?
Why does everything I put down on the page seem stilted and stupid and stale?
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Maybe I need to forget that it’s a fantasy. Maybe I need to forget that it’s not our world. I don’t mean throw those elements of the story out… but maybe I need to stop worrying so much about tone and style and other points of contention.
There’re three people in a room. One of them has something the other two want. Press start.
It’s not rocket science, but I think I’m making it into same.
Update: So, after this little whine-fest, I wrote a thousand odd words; the first chapter. Got it off the ground. I feel better. If not completely back on track, at least my Butt Is In The Chair and I’m Writing.
Is it me, or did that gratuitous use of Upper Case feel kinda Stuart Smalley to you, too?