It’s Monday. I went downstate this past weekend to my RWA chapter meeting. (Since I live at the ends of the earth, this means a 4 hour drive one way … anyhoodles) I love those women (and one guy). We’re like extended family. Most of us hadn’t seen each other since the last regular meeting in June and we had a whooooole bunch of catching up to do. It’s so much fun (and totally motivational) to be with these writers.
So I spent yesterday cleaning out my inbox and catching up on laundry and sleep. I thought about working on my writing, but just couldn’t seem to bring myself to open up my WIP and get cranking. Which is dumb, since I really love the characters and the story. Okay, let’s be honest, it’s hard because I have to THINK. I don’t mean I’m not always thinking it’s just that I’ve now got to figure out the backstory on a couple of shifters that I let slide in the last book. Well no more missy. Now I need to step up to the plate and actually mine through their personal history and figure out what is making them tick.
To top it off. I’m reading Stephen King’s book On Writing. I’m about half way through. The beginning was about him as a writer and the history that formed him and created the inspiring writer he is today. What’s this have to do with me? I’m getting to that. I’m now at the point in the book where Mr. King says writing is hard. It’s work. It takes effort to dredge up those words to form paragraphs (he skips the sentence part of writing) and pages which eventually turn into a complete story.
And part of me sometimes wants to sit in the corner and feel bad for herself. I mean, sometimes I’d rather be teaching. But I can’t. What I can do is write. And I have to remember how lucky I am to be gifted with that.
The last couple of weeks I was working on rewriting an earlier piece of work. I remember writing it. I sat down each day with eager anticipation having no idea where my characters would take me, but knowing full well, they’d wind their way into some trouble and maybe a couple of heart wrenching escapades.
But I’ve lost that.
Now I worry, even in writing my first draft that perhaps the readers won’t like this new character or they’ve figured out the twist to the plot that was supposed to be a surprise. I just worry about every word finding it’s way to the page. Writing has lost it’s spontaneity and joy. And I’ve been feeling kind of bummed about it.
But I decided this week to put it aside. So what–I don’t know what motivates a character and it may take me a couple of chapters to figure it out. The key is to get down that first draft, THEN iron out the details in the rewrite. So I’m telling my muse to BUCK UP, get ready to get down and dirty and do some writing. Stop worrying so much and start having fun again. I don’t know if this’ll work, but I’m giving it a try.
Wish me luck. I’m going in …