This week was a freaking disaster.
I’m not sure what is worse: The blank wasteland of my week, or having to report upon it here. Both, I think.
I have no genuine excuses. I’m not even sure it was Resistance beating me. It was simply a week of tiny excuses that were used to duck writing the book.
It’s either the book that is scaring me (size, scope, balls needed to write where dozens of far-better qualified authors have gone before), or I don’t know the story well enough (character aren’t alive in my head, I don’t care enough about them yet, there’s no scene I want to write up to, yet).
Only it doesn’t feel like any of them are the real problem.
So I’m left with the immutable fact that I’m now nearly two weeks behind my schedule and that being understanding with myself is no longer acceptable. I have to find a way to crack down and get the work done.
I did get nearly five chapters written, so starting wasn’t an issue. Getting pulled away by the merest hint of an excuse to shift my hands off the keyboard was.
Shining object syndrome was huge, this week.
I don’t have a plan to get back on the rails other than sitting in the chair and making myself work. Whatever it takes. You’ll find out next week if that works.
Until then, back to work, all of us.