0046 - Blocked

I really, really want to write again but I don't feel like I have any ideas worth exploring. Vampires, zombies, witches, pandemics... all of these things interest me but they've been done to death... and yes, I do see the irony in that statement At this point, I have the time to invest in a story, but I have no story.

I was only ever able to finish one story, my beta readers liked it, and then I encountered rejection from agents, and I let the rejection skew how I viewed my work. I began to slice through my story until it started to bleed... there wasn't enough depth... everyone thought the main character was me... I received two positive emails from agencies, and multiple rejections. I was fairly confident at first, but then suddenly... I gave up. I really needed to revisit it with new eyes. As a writer you can become so entrenched in your work that you are no longer objective. You've read it so much that you get sick of it. The scariest moment is that point where you read it with disenchanted eyes, and suddenly you begin to believe that this 'masterpiece' you were so proud of SUCKS - your baby is ugly.

It's frustrating to know that you can be creative, to know that you've been able to finish something in the past, but to not be able to do it now. My muse has always been finicky. I can't force it. I can take advantage of it while it's there, and as long as I stay in the habit of writing (be it words or music) I am so creative that I obsess. I lose sleep over a sentence, I literally have to write it down, so I keep a notebook by the bed. The minute I stop writing, I am done for.

Unfortunately I stopped. I don't even know why. The story wasn't finished, it has a sequel but I never started it.

So I started blogging, thinking that it would get me back into the habit of writing... which it did... but it only put me into the habit of writing a blog. Not exactly what I was going for. Don't get me wrong, blogging is good, it's like a photo album with words, I can go back and relive some good memories. And now that we've moved, it's something of a lifeline between us and our friends and family. It's just not the creative outlet I need.

Sometimes I wonder if I didn't read other people's books, if I stopped watching television... would I force my muse out of hibernation? Am I muddying up the waters? But the weird thing is... when I wrote my screenplay... when I wrote my book... I had the tv on in the background as I wrote, and I still read books. So I don't know what the answer is.


The book actually started with a phrase that was inspired by the atmospheric cinematography of the Twilight movie (don't judge). The strangest details are the ones that capture my attention. The hard part for me is to venture beyond the bones of a story, to flesh out the details... to describe a tree not just as a tree, but as a gnarled oak with leaves made transparent by winter. A footstep is the defiant crunch of long-dead acorns underfoot. You have to make things tactile. You want to smell the decay of the forest, the damp air from the rain, feel the heavy, moisture-laden air. For me to do that is an afterthought, it's not part of the first draft, I have to make it happen.

I envy authors like Laurell K Hamilton, it seems almost effortless for her. I know it isn't, or maybe it wasn't in the beginning, but she writes not one, but two popular series, cranking out a book or two a year. I envy Stephen King his prolific imagination. I envy JK Rowling and Stephanie Meyers. I envy all the writers who crank out book after book with a loyal fanbase, not because of their celebrity, not because of their bank accounts (well...), but because they keep people enthralled.

I want my muse back.