The words won’t come, the ideas taste wrong, and the characters decide not to play with you anymore. You try to find a way around the obstacle in your head, but there is none.
What I usually do is start working on something else. Another idea. A new project.
And then there are days when I just feel like giving up. I have a husband and a toddler son I can’t get enough of. I have a full-time job as a paper pusher and a part-time one as an editor, to make ends meet. I design covers on the side, for a shopping allowance. And I write because I need to.
Out of all this, the only thing I can afford to drop is the writing, and though the idea tears me up inside, there are nights like tonight, when I find myself wondering if it’ll ever be worth it. If I’ll ever be good enough to make a difference. Good enough to make a living out of it.
The ideas are all jumbled tonight. I blame that and my downer mood on Mercury being retrograde, but the result is the same—I can’t write. It’s driving me nuts, and it leads to unhappy posts like this one.
I think I’ll have a smoke and a glass of wine, and try to write something more upbeat next time.