I’m completely blocked on my new novel. I don’t know why. I just don’t think I’m approaching it correctly.
So I’m panicking and trying desperately to think of another idea. And the more I search, the more elusive it becomes.
Lynn Freed wrote about this brilliantly in her book, Reading, Writing , and Leaving Home:
“I forgot everything I knew about ideas and fiction. But desperation and vanity does this to a writer: It makes her stupid. In fact, finding an idea for a novel is easy. I came up with one idea after another. In this case, coming up with an idea for a book was almost a guarantee that whatever I wrote to fit that idea would falter. The more obsessed I became with chasing down a plan, with wresting the idea into the confines of an abstraction, the more the real fiction eluded me.”
I’m in the throws of what she describes.
I’m hoping a solution will come to me.
In the meantime, I’m a bit crabby.
OK, a lot crabby.
So I’m cleaning the house, badly. And painting. I like to paint. I try to capture my family. I’ve done portraits of my children and pictures of us at the beach. And then I do lots of abstracts because I can’t draw. But I like playing with the colors.
I’m hoping it will all lead to something….
photo by UrbanDigger.com (flickr)