You’d think after finally publishing my first book the force would be strong with me and I’d be forty-seven scenes deep into the writing of my next book.
But alas this is not the case.
I feel like Julia Roberts in that restaurant scene in Pretty Woman. (Stay with me on this one.) Richard Gere is arguing with that dude about chopping up his business into bits and Julia is struggling to eat her snails with the little tongs she’s been given. After fighting to pick up a snail it shoots out of the tongs into the air and is caught by one of the waitstaff. Julia says with her trademark smile, “Slippery little suckers”.
That’s what words are feeling like to me at the moment. Like garlic-flavoured escargot that I cannot get a hold of using the dainty silver utensil that is my brain.
Therefore to shock myself out of this funk I’m forcing myself to post five times on the blog this week and I’m holding myself to delivering a finished draft of my novella Coffee Bitch to my marvellous developmental editor.
I want to send a message to the Universe (and my fingers) that I’m serious about being a writer.
Because at the moment the only things the Universe thinks I’m serious about are Sam and Dean Winchester and falafel sandwiches.
The words don’t have to be perfect.
I just have to get them down on paper.
Because it doesn’t count when they’re just in my head. Unfortunately.
The writer Louis L’Amour said:
Start writing, no matter what. The water does not flow until the faucet is turned on.
So this is me turning on the faucet.
P.S. Is there anything you’re avoiding doing that might benefit from you just starting no matter what it looks like? Because sometimes you need to just bloody
write [insert your thing] already.