There are always stories in my mind, and all I have to do is channel one at a time to get it down on paper. Not to say there are Finished Novels in my mind- that requires editing and all sorts of pain and agony.
But the seed of an idea is there. As with all seeds, you have to plant it- which is easy enough. I’ve planted lots of ideas. It’s the tending and caring for the idea that I forget. So the seed dies, and I never get a fully-fledged idea growing into a beautiful flower.
It has been days since I wrote in my book. More or less than a week. I get depressed just thinking about how long it’s been, but my depression only serves to make me more depressed, and it doesn’t encourage me to write at all.
There has been some writing this week, but nothing of consequence. I’ve been blocking out my inspiration with stress and depression.
I get stuck waiting for a ‘feeling’. I don’t ‘feel’ like writing today; the ideas just aren’t there. If I write while I’m in this mood, I’ll have to rip out even more pages, and I don’t want to do that. So, I just won’t write.
That’s an awful idea. It’s like saying I can’t decide what to eat so I’m just going to starve to death. My Writing Abilities are dying, and I need to feed them. Even if I do write something that just ends up getting torn out and thrown in the garbage*, I need to get my pencil on the paper and go.
*I don’t actually throw away my writing. It’s too special, even if it’s stupid. So it goes into one of my many folders dedicated to storing random writing stuff.