I’m reaching that lovely point in my current WIP where all my characters turn to cardboard and start glancing, glaring, blinking, shrugging, and twitching, not to mention sipping, drinking, and taking long swallows of caffeine, single malt, or diet Pepsi—write what you know, yeah?— while turning cups and glasses in their hands and staring into them.*
My POV characters have the personality, insight, and sheer charisma of dried mud. They also want to solve the main mystery now, which probably means the main mystery is a subplot . . . which means I need a new main mystery.
My plot is spinning its wheels in the mire of the mundane. Plus, my metaphors suck.
And Thursday is my fortieth birthday.**
So I started this blog.
Because nothing cures the “I suck at writing’ curse than more writing and a nice place to vent, ramble, and (occasionally) rock.
And chocolate. Godiva chocolate. The big box.
Hey–it’s my birthday.
*But not moodily. I’m not that far gone.
**That may seem like a non sequitor to you, and maybe it is, but you’d think the voices in my head would give me a break, considering.
2 thoughts on “Bear with me . . .”
I agree. The only cure to better writing is more writing. well said.
Now, all I have to do is sit down and do it.