I have all the time in the world. I have ideas and outlines. I have a story. I even know what words I want on the page next.
But I'm not writing.
It's worse than that. I can't even bring myself to open the document that houses the work I've done. It's like I'm paralyzed.
And I don't understand it.
I left grad school in part because it was taking me away from some of the things I wanted to do, namely writing. (Rest assured there were very many other reasons, not least of which was the lack of support and guidance within my department.) But it's been two years, and I have a little over 52,000 words? Almost every single one of those useless words was written during National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) this year. (I wrote close to 30,000 words last NaNoWriMo, but I've either thrown them out or recycled them in this year's rewrite of last year's novel). Maybe it was the structure, or the deadline, or the accountability to something bigger than me, but the NaNoWriMo project spurred me to do what eleven months of the year cannot.
What have I written since then? The beginning of a chapter. Six times. The same chapter. Every time I sit down to write (in a notebook with a colorful pen, because I still can't bring myself to open my novel file), I feel I have a better way to start the chapter, or I doubt too much the previous attempt, or I just feel it's easier to start again and capitalize on my momentum into the middle of the chapter. The middle never comes.
I give up. I stop writing. I avoid it like the plague.
What's wrong with me?
I can't even really call it writer's ("writers' "? "writers"?) block, because I know what comes next. I'm just not writing it.
Maybe it's fear. Fear that finishing the novel will mean having to begin the rewriting/editing process? No, it can't be that, because I love editing. Fear that I will eventually have to show people the novel? No, because Daniel has been reading it all along in its incredibly rough and unfinished state. Fear that I'll have to send it out to agents and publishers and get rejected? Doubt it. After the demoralizing job search of the past, oh, nine months, I think I'm getting pretty damn used to rejection.
Why? Why can't I just write?
It's not that I dislike writing. I love it! It's easily one of my favorite things in the world. The feel of creation, of stringing together thoughts to manufacture something new, is exhilarating! I even love the hard part of finding that perfectly elusive word that completes the most nuanced though. Of balancing clauses. Of combing through for mistakes. Of taking a single sentence or paragraph and molding it, shaping it with tones and voice, and just making it fit more perfectly on the page.
But I'm just not writing lately, and it's killing me.
The funny thing is, though, since I began writing this little blog post, I've actually opened my novel file. I've actually contemplated writing in that rather than finish writing this confession. Maybe I just have a pathological inability to finish things.
Might explain leaving grad school before I got my PhD.
Nah, that's too harsh on myself. Even for me. And I love to beat up on myself! (Too fat. Not talented. Lazy. Not smart enough. Seriously stupid thoughts fill my head all the time, but I figure that's just natural.)
Any suggestions on how to actually write again? I'm going to try tonight, and maybe I'll succeed. Rest assured, though, I will go through this same struggle tomorrow and the next day. I would love to know any tricks anybody else uses for getting through this kind of struggle.
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