Fishing for mojo

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For the first time in over a decade I am struggling to write. Even this blog feels like it’s being ripped out of the deepest agonies of the soul and the words don’t want to come.

It’s not just the Major Life Event. It’s also because I’m between projects; I finished my latest draft of my latest novel just before Christmas, and don’t know what I’m working on next. My attempts at a new novel have stalled, and whilst I have plenty of ideas circling manically around my mind, I can’t seem to latch onto anything. If I were in the middle of something I could snatch half-hours to add odd words and I wouldn’t feel quite so much like I was failing.

This is a torment. I love writing, love creation, and right now I don’t seem able to grasp hold of anything. I know it’s just a phase, a passing moment of enforced downtime. But that fear is constantly buzzing in my ears: what if I’m burnt out? What if I’ve lost the spark? Major Life Event notwithstanding, this is the ideal time to write: I’ve time at home; the MLE’s at her sleepiest; the wife is taking frequent naps. It’s not going to get any easier than this. This is prime writing time. Why aren’t you using it?

I am my own worst enemy.

Intellectually I know that this will pass. Things will get clearer. I will carve out a new routine. But emotionally all is doom and despair. I have no writing career from which I can take a year out. I don’t want to let down my social media followers (which is massively ridiculous; I’m hardly that egocentric. But I don’t want to lose any momentum I may have gained. Which may also be ridiculous, but still).

I need to take a proper break and let my spiralling mind settle. Things will get better. I just need to go fishing for mojo and then I’ll be feasting on productivity again.

With apologies for the random, half-formed images and metaphors.

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The ruts

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If you’ve been following this page for a while you might be wondering where all my posts on ‘real’ writing have gone. I’ve been blithely blithering on about proofreading, world-building, and all sorts of tangentialities and not once getting to grips with my own work. There is a reason for this. It’s because I’m stuck.

Just before Christmas I finished the fourth draft of Oneiromancer. It is as good as I can make it – or, at least, as good as I can make it right now. I’m under no illusions that it’s perfect (whatever that means) but I can’t work on it further without feedback and without a decent break.

Next on my mental ‘to-do’ list was to go back to the ‘problem child’ novel: Australis, the second in my Antarctic trilogy. But I just can’t face that right now. I need to move forwards, so January found me playing around with a new project: a cyber-thriller that, as yet, has no title. Also no plot, characters or direction.

It should come as no surprise to hear that I’ve got nowhere. I need to have at least an end-point in mind – something to write towards. Without that I have nothing.

There’s been litres of ink spilled on the subject of writers’ block. I’m not going to add to that here because I don’t think I have it – hell, seeing as no-one can actually agree what it actually is and whether it even exists, adding my own tuppeneth seems somewhat superfluous. But I am stuck, or at least stalled.

My problem, as I see it, can be interpreted in two ways. Either I’ve been lazy, not really applying my mental faculties to working through my storyline, or I’ve had so much on my mind that there’s not much room left for creativity.

The good thing is that there are far worse things in life than taking a month out. I don’t have deadlines. I don’t have the pressure to produce: I do what I do because I want to; because the joy of writing is transcendent, the kind of high that I imagine elite athletes get when they’re in the ‘flow’, when instinct lets you do things that you’d never be able to if you sat and thought it all through beforehand.

The other thing is that I’m working through obstacles in my personal life: things that have been filling my brain, that are important but not conducive to creativity. I’m slowly clawing my way into becoming an adult. I have my driving test on Wednesday: at the moment my dream-time – when I lie in bed awaiting sleep – is full of mirror, signal, manoeuvre and fantastic worlds have been squeezed out.

I am hard on myself. I consider time spent not writing as time wasted. This is not the case. Things have been tricky recently but they will resolve soon. If you’re in a similar position maybe you need to reprioritise, reassess, reboot. The ties will release. Things will get better. You will write again. Believe that.

I’ll have had my driving test by the time this is posted* and we’ll see where we stand then. Then there’s just the small matter of –

No, I’m not going to talk about that. That’s for next week’s blog.

 

*Failed. Cloud not lifted. Bugger.