For the past little while, I have been struggling to write anything of any note. There are all sorts of reasons for this, mostly quite silly and whimsy but others more serious and altogether interesting. I’m not going to go into any of these reasons right now, but I will tell you that I hate the feeling.
Several times recently, I have opened the file that contains the first fifth (or so) of This Immortal Coil…and being entirely unsure what the next word should be. I’ve even done it on this very site. As I type this, two posts are sat in draft form, unfinished. Whether I ever will finish them is a matter of debate. I probably will. Both are sort of interesting. This one I will finish, even if I leave it halfway through.
The core of the problem is that writing is hard. I can re-write, revise and re-visit until I’m blue in the face. I would happily go into Not Quite Normal right now and start tweaking again. But doing new stuff? I’ve always had a problem with that.
See, it takes me a long time to make something even vaguely good. I can come up with stories easily, but putting them on paper is tough for me. How I managed to finish NaNoWriMo I’ll never know. How I’ve ever managed to finish a blog post I’ll never know.
Hell, I’m only really putting this here to make it look like I’ve been doing something. Oh well.