Writing a Hard Thing

In the newest attempt at novel writing, I came to a bumpy spot. Not bumpy because of difficulty... but bumpy because I didn't want to write it.

The story absolutely had to go a certain way. But I didn't want to write it. The subject matter was a bit delicate, and well, I just didn't want to do it.

So much in fact that it took me almost a week to get the guts to write it out.

As I was writing it, I nearly chickened out. I literally paused, my hands over the keyboard, and almost, ALMOST made it different.

But I was brave. I swallowed my fears, and I wrote it.

It was the right move. What's strange to me is how personal it felt, writing that tidbit. I just can't describe it, but it was a challenge.

This being-a-writer-thing is weird. And kind of hard. And good.

A Spark

Truth: I got really grumpy at my novel.

Like so much that I haven't touched in almost a month.

It's SLOW work, and I feel frustrated trying to balance the "right" way to "write" a novel, so that someone will want to publish it, with the story that I want to tell how I freaking want to tell it.

Ya know?

So. I'm taking a step back from it. I need to let it be. I was trying to force it, and it was coming out garbage.

I have a new idea that is percolating. It's going to be fun. Publishable? Maybe. But I feel that spark of inspiration. I haven't been feeling that lately.

Over and out.