Tag Archives for Writer’s Block

"I think "roundeye fairyboy." would be a pretty blink-worthy insult."

I meant to post yesterday, and then I didn’t. *cough* Some I’m back-dating this post so that it looks as though I have a perfect record. I’m so sneakrative.

But I’m trying to go back to writing, after a post-nano and then christmas and then New Year’s break. Oops. It’s HARRRDDD. *whines*
(But also shiny.)
An well, back to the suck! I want to write a fist fight. This sounds like an excellent plan.

"All the right friends, in all the right places, so yeah, we’re going down."

It’s entirely possible that you’ve seen this already on Bahnree’s blog, since we share most of our readership. ^_^ But I have to share it anyhow.

Is it not PRETTY? And doesn’t the lead singer look like Wash? Admit it, he totally does. *takes a moment to heart Wash*
And I need a masked ball with electric organ in my book. NOW. I DEMAND masked ball. With spies and pick pockets and glowing instrumentation, and possibly assassination/assignation. I am not sure how this all works out, but it’s finally unstuck the damned block in my plot.
I think I’ve decided moral ambiguity is lame, and the bad guys are bad. Probably. Or maybe this will show that my good guys are the bad guys. IS COMPLICATED. Anyhow, there are masks and reveals and begging, so it’s all better now.
If you’ve read the above ranting, I salute you. You clearly need some serious therapy. Watch the pretty video again, you’ll feel better. There are dancers!

"You manage to fit sketch into the least hot situations."

This verdict after a friend read Expendables makes me proud. It probably shouldn’t, but I cling to my small gifts, such as turning a hospital cafeteria into a situation for unintentional inappropriateness. Although, given that this was Sarti “showing off her scars” unintentional isn’t exactly the right term. ANYHOW.

How’s the writing coming, I hear you all ask? *deludes self that there is an attentive audience waiting to hear the response.* Well, my myriad loyal minions, it’s not really coming along. I wrote one and a half two pages today! *preens*
*slumps*
That may or may not have been the first writing since Nano… *fiddles with fingers* But in other news, a family friend who is a youth paster and my grandmother both offered to proof read. I beg you for advice. What does one do in that situation? I’m not sure if my writing is grandmother-friendly!
And okay, my lack of sanity is becoming Obvious to all and sundry. Sundry being work mates. I’m rather out of it this week, for reasons including but not limited to;
  1. lack of sleep
  2. Family things out of anyone’s control
  3. and mostly- SHINY BOOKS. (You spend enough time in other worlds, the one you are writing just looks, strange and inadequate.)
Why yes, I am blaming Melissa Marr for my lack of writing. *glowers* It’s totally your fault, you and your worlds. And Sarah Rees Breenan, with your enticing blog! Totally not my fault that my, characters, have been left in limbo…
*regards characters, who glower ominously*
*Ewan grins unpleasantly, while Laura loads gun*
I may have made a tactical error. And now they’re telling me off for blogging instead of writing. I SHALL LEAVE NOW.
(this is in the running for the worst blog entry of all time. I should make a list- later)

"The preacher says hold fast boy this is God’s plan/ No offense Lord, but I’d love to see/ Plan B."

I have discovered a fatal flaw in my writing style. *pokes novels* I lay all the groundwork for a major event, and then I don’t want to write it. This happened with Merchant’s Daughter, which I still haven’t finished, it happened after Nano, when I got everyone set up for planetside rescue, and it’s happening now. 

I have PLANS in my head. I have DEATH SCENE. I have HILARITY. I have LEETNESS. I have DARING ESCAPE. I have DISTURBING VILLAN. I can see it all. Andddd… I don’t want to write it. *big sigh* 
Why yes, I AM a whiner, how penetrating of you to figure this out. Ah well. I have tea, and well. Maybe I’ll throw in a cameo from other universes, to motivate me. Now THERE’S a plan! Mmmm, tasty cameos. 

Lost, a mind. Seems to have gone missing about two months ago, along with a plot, characters and continuity.

I have NO IDEA WHAT I”M DOING.

NO SWEET CLUE.
I don’t even know what my characters are like anymore, or what they’re doing… 
*weeps*
Scenes just die to an end, they don’t close in any reasonable fashion, people say totally incomprehensible things, and no one tells me that they’re thinking any more?!? Even Kael, who is usually very vocal, is blanking at me! And Appel is drugged out! And well, Jennet I know, but she’s straight forward and I’m not having to DEAL with her. Everyone else… *pokes* Talk to me…. please….  I promise I’ll give you clean deaths, at least? Please? Pretty please with a cherry on top and whipped cream? No, not for YOU, boyo.
Oh dear. 
MY CHARACTERS HAVE GONE ON STRIKE FOR THEIR SURVIVAL. IT ALL MAKES SENSE TO ME NOW. 
WHAT AM I GOING TO DO? 
I HATE MY STORY. AND IT HATES ME BACK. 
This might have something to do with the fact that I’ve been torturing, threatening and kidnapping everyone. But it was necessary!
Why am I so crazy? *cries* Do I need medication? I’m not really sure. Also, I have a killer headache and I’m tired despite having slept 12 hours last night. 
Chocolate. Chocolate is the answer. *goes to find chocolate*

Writer’s Block: Autumn Begins

Yes, Autumn is its own season. Well actually, "Autumn" is the word people use where they don’t actually have weather. I mean, let’s be honest here people. Where the time of year we are discussing is something of note, it is called Fall. 

And Fall is the best time of year. 

It is the wildest of the seasons. It does not have summer’s self-satisfied languor, or spring’s overeager exuberance. It does not have the brutal power of winter. Fall is untamable joy. 

…The road becomes an open invitation.

Fall is mornings of golden light and silver fog, easing into days of such pure colour it makes your chest hurt. Fall is when the air smells of wood smoke and snow one moment, and nothing but the wild sea the next. 

Oh, the sea. White caps on the bay. Winds straight from Ireland, stinging feeling into your cheeks. Salt in the air, and impossible blue on the water. The sound of the waves under the stars.  

Days where the colours on the hills are chiefly static flame. Days where the world is composed of impossibly detailed monochrome. Days where the wind greets you like an old friend, and days where the fog hints at mountains and castles in every hollow. 

Here Fall lasts a full three months, and I wouldn’t forfeit a single day of it.