What Happens When You’re Not Ready To Write
Available on Amazon.com
I do not have Writer’s Block, just to be clear. What I suffer from currently looks a lot like WB, there is much staring at blank pages and self recriminations aplenty.
But it’s not a matter of blockage. The words are there, the road ahead is still clear and well marked. I wrote two chapters in two days and didn’t hate them. Book four of the Song of Solstice was already a third finished when I resumed writing last week. It’s been over a year since stopping to publish The Last Prospector.
I stopped again, after those two chapters, because I’m just not ready to write. Fortunately, my Twitter bud @CantrellJason wrote a blog about his writing process recently and tagged yours truly. It gives me an opportunity to try to explain how it works for me.
The word that seems to get used most often in the reviews of Prospector is vivid. Frankly, it’s a good word to sum me up in general. My normal mode of being is in your face like a lightning strike. It’s not something I purposely strive for, it’s just always been so. Long ago, I stopped trying to be “normal”, this is who I am so that is how I do everything. Vividly.
It served me well as a chef because vivid flavors are worth all the effort they take to create . It serves me well as a writer because I want the whole world to see Solstice as I see it. Wait – not merely see it, but experience it, with all the senses.
In order to impart the sensory experience of Solstice via the written word, I must immerse myself in Solstice. That’s where I’m blocked. Getting back into the world of my creation isn’t as easy as I thought it would be, not as easy as it used to be.
Normally, I sit down to write in the morning with a clear view of the day’s chapter, usually not emerging from a frenzied haze for about six hours. Most of the books thus far were written in my pajamas. In those hours, I truly go to Solstice. I can only see that world, I conjure up the scents and how the dirt feels beneath my feet. I feel the weather and taste the food. I wear their clothes, ride their mounts, climb their trees and hear the songs of the light stealers.
All the while, my fingers dutifully report every detail of note and somehow the story spools out. When I’m writing, I don’t feel like I’m writing. I’m watching the story happen around me and sharing as best I can.
The reason I stopped where I did was because of the imminent death scene. Someone from book one has to die in book four and I suck at letting go. Not only that though, I don’t want to go through the grieving process for a character right now. Both my dad and one of my closest friends have died in the last two months. Grief isn’t something I have to imagine.
I can’t write the story now because I can’t put my psyche through conjured sorrow. By book four, Prospector has been emotionally battered. He feels things very deeply and is still healing from other significant losses, I can’t bear to do this to him (or me) right now. Neither of us are prepared to confront another loss.
And it’s okay. As much as I want to finish this story, I don’t want to do so out of obligation. When I resume writing the series, it will be because I am ready to do so. Ready to immerse myself and feel all the feels, so I can deliver the flavor of Solstice as it deserves.
So, it’s not the writer who is blocked, it’s the heart. Time and kindness towards myself will heal my wounds. Only then will I be able to throw myself back into Solstice with unreserved abandon. As it should be.
Share this:
