I'll blame it on the snow that continues to suffocate NH with its exhaust-stained crust; or not enough vitamin D. I didn't write for over 3 weeks. Man, that felt shitty. I did watch two seasons of Idiot Abroad, and I finally read Gone Girl... but the only writing I managed during my writing time turned up as scribbled rants at my characters and a couple OneNote tabs filled with "research" that looks suspiciously Pinteresque.
It wasn't the not writing that bothered me... It was, and is, the feeling that I'll never finish the damn story. It's there. I keep chipping away pieces of its opaque shell. Will I ever uncover the whole thing? Why won't it just pour out of me like some writers say their stories emerge?
What do other writers do when this anxiety strikes?
It wasn't the not writing that bothered me... It was, and is, the feeling that I'll never finish the damn story. It's there. I keep chipping away pieces of its opaque shell. Will I ever uncover the whole thing? Why won't it just pour out of me like some writers say their stories emerge?
What do other writers do when this anxiety strikes?