My brain has finally achieved near-synchronicity with my current life-cycle. Almost two weeks back from several time zones east of here and I am finally regaining the full use of my brain and my former energy levels.
Foolishly, and before I realized how foggy I was, I opened the incomplete draft of one of the novels in an attempt to reignite the spark only to find my dastardly former self had emblazoned the draft with vague notes and highlights, rendering it nearly incomprehensible. This was unforeseen. I left with the plot unresolved and fully expected my subconscious to have produced a solution while I took a full month off. But my writer's brain turned out to be a lazy bastard and did nothing at all. I am now doubly disappointed by not only the lack of resolution but my inability to grasp the rung where my hand last rested.
In frustration I attempted to resume work on a long novella that has languished desktop-wise for far too long only to discover that I was no more able to untangle the plot lines or advance the narrative than with the novel. "Maybe one of the shorts," I shouted and, with a wave of the mouse, brought forth the most recent only to send it flying when I realized how much work would be involved to bring it to fruition.
But I continued to work, throwing words at the pieces in hopes of achieving some sort of resolution so I could start seriously editing. I also took a couple of naps, caught up on my reading, corresponded with friends, took brief looks at Facebook, LinkedIn, Twitter, and dove into the writer's black hole - Google! Wait: Those things were not writing, they were just avoidance strategies I used until, energy restored, I could once again become productive.
At least I hoped so.
*I often wonder if other writers have a problem with keeping their noses to the grindstone. Are they able to produce endless streams of prose without doubt plaguing every word choice or phrase like me; ever a pillar of self-doubt and insecurity?
#SFWApro
Foolishly, and before I realized how foggy I was, I opened the incomplete draft of one of the novels in an attempt to reignite the spark only to find my dastardly former self had emblazoned the draft with vague notes and highlights, rendering it nearly incomprehensible. This was unforeseen. I left with the plot unresolved and fully expected my subconscious to have produced a solution while I took a full month off. But my writer's brain turned out to be a lazy bastard and did nothing at all. I am now doubly disappointed by not only the lack of resolution but my inability to grasp the rung where my hand last rested.
But I continued to work, throwing words at the pieces in hopes of achieving some sort of resolution so I could start seriously editing. I also took a couple of naps, caught up on my reading, corresponded with friends, took brief looks at Facebook, LinkedIn, Twitter, and dove into the writer's black hole - Google! Wait: Those things were not writing, they were just avoidance strategies I used until, energy restored, I could once again become productive.
At least I hoped so.
*I often wonder if other writers have a problem with keeping their noses to the grindstone. Are they able to produce endless streams of prose without doubt plaguing every word choice or phrase like me; ever a pillar of self-doubt and insecurity?
#SFWApro
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