And you know it must be bad when I use an intentional misspelling in the title. It’s dire straits here.
You see, my fingers are positively itching to write something. I even have a kind-of direction in my plot. There are scenes just sitting there in my head waiting to be transformed into prose. Every day this week I’ve got household chores out of the way early (or just ignored them altogether) and sat down in my couple of free hours to write.
But usually I just end up checking Facebook ad nauseum, or reading over what I’ve already written, or staring at my working synopsis and willing it to resolve itself.
The ironic thing is that the story is stalling because my main character is having trouble getting over herself and getting her A into G. Funny, that.
It’s like when I’m at work and I have so much to do that I become paralysed and sit there panicking and doing nothing instead. I have trouble getting past the big picture and sorting through the minor details to actually get something on the page. The minor details are too hard, so instead I do nothing. Or check Facebook for the seventy-fifth time.
And I panic.
Add my imminent return to work in three weeks and you have a potent cocktail of ohshitI’mnevergoingtowriteanythingeveragain.