Since I started writing properly, and by that I mean with the goal of eventually being published, I’ve run into many different obstacles over the years. More often than not I’ve managed to overcome them. That was true, until recently, when I hit a real snag.
I simply didn’t anticipate how long it would take to get my first two books edited. I’ve held off starting anything new because I wanted to keep both books fresh in my mind to make it easier to finish them off when the edits did eventually come back. Unfortunately, as a result, with this old material bunging up my thinking I’ve not been able to write any new fiction and very little new content for the website.
Finally realising the situation has gone on for too long, I’ve forced myself back to the keyboard to press on with something new.
This, I now recognise, has been a bout of writers block (although I’ve been kidding myself that it was something else for months). As I mentioned in my earlier post on the subject, I believe that most – if not all – writers block, can be traced to some form of fear. In this case, my fear of distancing myself from my older material guided me to make the wrong choice, and thus stifling the development of new stuff. As the editing delay got longer, my self imposed writing dry spell became a full blown drought.
What a dummy I’ve been. I know hindsight is considered by some to be wonderful, but really all it’s done is mess with my melon. Realising I could have knocked out a new first draft in the time I’ve been dormant makes me feel like a prize numpty.
However, I don’t really believe that self recrimination is the correct response. The right thing for me to do, having identified the problem, is to do what dogs do and just kick some grass over it and move on.
So, hence this rather rambling blog entry and my own shambling stagger from the literary gutter.
Right then, where did I leave my writing mojo…?