I’m going to admit it up front. I’m blogging because I’m not writing fiction. There, I said it. I admitted it. It didn’t help me find my focus.
The truth is, as I was writing Man Whore and I realized that there was more to the story than the story itself, I thought having a series of books with established characters would help me focus on writing. Ah, no. As writers are wont to do, I have been as distracted as usual by those shiny, sparkly things called new ideas.
I’ve worked out a compromise with myself on those. I jot down the basic concept and write a brief scene or two to capture the feel of the character’s moods and behavior, and then I stuff it in my Dropbox folder for future reference – you know, those days when I can’t decide what to work on. I’ll tell you that this method has created more stories than I could ever write, but this week, it’s not helping me actually accomplish any writing.
It’s not the shinies distracting me this week. It’s the bear in me. No, not that kind of bear. I mean the kind that hibernate all winter. I haven’t had the energy to exercise, or really do anything besides shuffle through a day at the EDJ and then come home, maybe eat, before staring into space from the discomfort of a worn out sofa.
There are a few tricks left to try. I’m not giving up yet, though I have been tempted to admit defeat and make my writing year March through November. That’s an option, but not the first on the list. So instead, I’m going with superstition. You see, the last couple of times I’ve bellyached about lack of focus on my blog, I’ve ended up writing by the end of the day. It’s as if the infamous Muse wants to make me look bad, or prove me wrong, or…
Yes, my subconscious mind fucks with me. There, I said it.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to work on that sequel. C’mon fingers – type!