Writer, blocked…

Ok, not really blocked like a Hoover Dam, but definitely some beavers are up to no good in my head.

And, this is not the blog I have prepared for this week.  I’m free writing, on the computer, instead of the pen and paper I am most comfortable with.  Push yourself till you’re uncomfortable?  I’m doing it.

I’m working on a scene in my Beta Draft.  It’s important.  Lots of character conflict, story evolution, and sex.  I have know for a while that there are major problems with the rough draft version of this chapter.  It’s crap.  I know it’s crap.  It knows it’s crap.  Crapity-crap crap crap.

But, like I said, important stuff happens, so I have to separate the wheat from the chaff.

It’s slow.  Word count is dismal.  99,432 to date, with around 13oo per day.  I laughed about the day the word count was 10, until the next day it was zero.  “Laugh it up, fuzz-ball.”

I find myself browsing the internet, looking for clarity, insight, and inspiration.  I find trolling cats, politics, human rights violations, and a really cool Groot Christmas Tree.  “Shut up and take my money!”

I’m also struggling with my writers platform media.  I haven’t fixed the Facebook page, the Twitter account has bugs, and I need the webpage offered by the generous Word Press.  Messages are backlogged, waiting for those platforms to function correctly to trade with other writers.  “We are experiencing technical difficulties.  Please, be patient.”

I know I will get through this.  It has happened before, so I know this isn’t the end, unlike the first time.  That was a rough time in my life, but I learned something by my perseverance.  I am a writer.  Nothing will stop that, not even me.  “I will survive!”

However, this is the first time I’ve gone through this with writing friends.  It has helped, not being alone.  Links to good blogs showing up in my e-mail.  Cheerful Facebook posts about projects finished and publishing achieved.  Tweets about writing, writers, and books, books, and more books.  My reading list for after my finished draft is staggering.  “She canna take anymore, Captain!”

So, I strap on my metaphorical writing machete, sit my ass back in the chair, and write what hurts.  Make it real.  Make it visceral.

Make it TRUE!

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