I didn't think I would ever have to utter those two horrible words here, but it seems I am suffering through a bout of writer's block. It's almost as painful to write those words as it is to think about them. I'm sure many of you disagree with this ailment considering I am writing these words here, which must mean I'm fine, right?
But alas dear, invisible reader, it seems I have been able to write everything else as of late with the exception of Chapter 22 in BOOK TWO. I'm not sure why I am struggling so much.
You see, this chapter should be the easiest thing in the world for me to write. I have been waiting to write this scene since I planned it out a year and a half ago, but now that it's here I can't get past this big blank wall that seems to be standing in my way.
So how am I going to fix it?
Well, for starters, I'm writing here in hopes that I will get some creative juices flowing, or at least trick this blank wall in my head into disappearing for a little bit. I think I've been so busy planning these last few chapters lately that I haven't left room for any of the magic that happens when letters become words and words become sentences and sentences become paragraphs, which eventually become chapters in a story.
Instead, I've broken everything down so methodically that I don't think I've left room for this magic. This person I've become the last few weeks doesn't even feel like me anymore. Sure I usually plan and organize and think about what it is going to happen. But I also let my imagination take over and change things; making them better than I ever could've planned for. I think I've gotten myself into a case of trying too hard when I just need to let the words and ideas flow naturally.
Since I've found the problem I think I am going to prescribe some Ben and Jerry's Phish Food ice cream, "Dust to Dust" by The Civil Wars on repeat, and some much needed time to let my creative stream flow without man-made prodding or interruption. I hope I can tear down the walls of my writer's block, and continue moving forward.
And in thinking about all of this, I can't help thinking about a book I just read, which deserves some mention here. I finally finished The Ocean At The End Of The Lane by Neil Gaiman, and I must say I am still thoroughly lost in the world he created. I remember Amy Hempel, a spectacular author, beginning her reading in NYC by sharing something she wished she'd written, and this new work Gaiman has given to the world is something I wish I could've created. But alas, that story was not meant to find me. I was meant to find a different story, one which haunts me during the day and night, in the shower and the car and in class and at work. And this is the story I am determined to finish before summer. So I'll leave here with a quote from Neil Gaiman:
