Truth Be Told

California was meant to be a clean slate, but somehow it has turned into a quicksand nightmare that I can’t seem to pull myself out of. I used to take pride in my ability to think my way through difficult situations, to set my mind to a task and accomplish it. Lately, I can’t seem to do either. And it’s not just hindering my writing, it’s hindering my life. But since this blog is primarily about writing, let’s focus on that, shall we?

When I decided it was time to start work on Voodoo Dolls (yes, I’ve officially released the tittle) I knew I needed a different approach than I took with Phantom Ink. Writing fast and loose was fun, but with every scene so off-the-cuff, I was left with a gigantic editing job. Too gigantic, as it turned out. Lesson learned. So, to avoid the possibility of a major manuscript nip-tuck in the future, I spent a month creating a semi-detailed outline. I broke each chapter down based on main events. Then, I took it a step further, fleshed out characters, strategically placed pivotal plot scenes, and filled in the gaps. When I was finished, I essentially had a complete synopsis. And that’s where progress stopped.

Why, you ask? Good question, one I’ve been kicking around in my head since May. I’ve got a skeletal version of the story just waiting for me to add the flesh, and believe me, I’ve tried… on many occasions. Oh, don’t get me wrong. I’ve written, though, lately I spend more time staring blankly at my computer screen than typing madly on the keyboard. The problem is, when I come to a part that’s not written to my liking I become fixated on it. I run the scene through my head, playing it over and over like a video. I move paragraphs, rearrange sentence structures, change words. Edit. Delete. Undo.

Argh! It’s maddening! Unable to move forward, I eventually just shut down. And I’ve tried everything. From meditation to medication, nothing seems to work. In my last post I said I felt like I’d lost my inspiration. Now I fear I’ve lost so much more than that. I’m afraid I’ve lost faith… in myself.

Not even sure I’m deserving of a pseudonym right now.

P.K. Dawning

The Death of a Writer

So, I’m trying to do better about blogging. A “hot” professor has been on me to build/maintain a better online platform. The truth is, I’ve been kicking ideas around for the past week, but I’ve failed to come up with a single good one- as far as blog topics are concerned- and that made me wonder: is it better to write crap than nothing?

Generally, I’d say no, but lately my stretches of writing nothing have become impossibly long. I suppose I could do a post on writer’s block, but that’s been done to death. Besides, that’s not my problem. I’m heartsick and homesick, and my writing is paying the price. I feel completely dead inside. My passion for the story hasn’t died, but something has. And it’s been dying slowly, day by day, since the moment I first unpacked my bags here. If I can, for a moment, steal a bit of melodrama from the Master of the Macabre himself. California will be the death of me- one way or the other. I truly believe that. Maybe not a physical death, but a spiritual one. If I can leave California without being completely jaded, it will be no small miracle.

And if I can finish the WIP without being institutionalized, I will confess, convert, and join a nunnery. I think I’d look pretty darn good in a habit. All jokes aside, I’d love to just lock myself away and write until my fingers bleed. Unfortunately, life will not allow it. Though, I’m certain it will… someday. Until then I suppose I will keep inching along, fingers crossed, silently praying for a change. For now, I’ll settle for writing crap. Anything’s better than nothing, right? Besides, it worked for a certain -ekhem!- vampire novelist.

Here’s hoping the next post is better.

P.K. Dawning.