I really don’t, usually words and stories pour out and I just write them down. Almost as if I am the secretary for my own head. But last night I sat down to write the next chapter and…. nothing. What I did write was clumsy and not all that good.
I got stressed, massively so. You see the story (it’s the child’s story at about 16,000 words) needs to be out to a competition by the 30th of this month and I was hoping to have roughed the whole lot out so I could write the synopsis. But it wasn’t working last night.
Anyway, I start pacing and my mum says, “Stop it,” and in the same breath “What’s wrong?”
“I can’t get the story,” I say, verging on panic. “It has gone…”
So she sits me down and gets me to tell her. So I do and when I get to the gap my mouth keeps moving and the story just appears and hangs in the air. I go silent and all I can hear is mum’s pen scratching across a page as she makes notes. Then she hands me the completed page and on there is a rough outline.
“Why couldn’t I just write it?” I ask.
Mum shrugs and then looks at me with a smile. “Because you were to stressed.”
And voila – I am not in writer’s purgatory. Instead I am now writing at full speed and the words are flowing again. Only now I have a plan that I am following.
I still don’t think it was writers block. Maybe it was more like constipation… 🙂