For the past week or so, I have been busy working on my novel. Not the one I mentioned in an earlier blog post. That one has been shelved, temporarily. This new one had already been researched and plotted out quite some time ago. I know… Why were you wasting time starting another when you had yet to finish the first? The reason for this is simple (clears the throat, nervously). The new work was originally formatted as a screenplay, but now I have chosen to adapt it as a novel, as well. I hope you’re taking notes because there will be a ten minute assessment at the end of this post.
Anyway, for the most part it has proved torturous. I am my worst critic at the best of times and allow myself very little slack. So this particular writing project was a lesson in pulling teeth, getting blood from a stone and any other cliché I can come up with. Despite knowing the direction it was meant to head, I really struggled to find the words to express what I wanted to say. So this leads me to conclude that I am:
a) Just a bad writer and kidding myself I’ll ever be anything else, OR
b) Don’t really have a story to tell.
You see the problem is that whenever you watch a documentary about a published author, they are invariably viewed perched at their computer tapping away quite happily for about 20 hours a day, relaying a stream of consciousness directly from their imagination to the printed page to create – after several drafts – a beautifully conceived manuscript.
Why can’t I do that or, more to the point, will I ever be able to do that?
Hey, ho! Don’t suppose there are any easy answers. I just have to keep going, and hope one day it will get easier.
If there is anyone out there who has experienced this and overcome it, please comment and let me know.
Image credit: macniak / 123RF Stock Photo