I can summarize this with one expression: ARRGGGH!!!
C.S. Lewis is reputed to have said once that the craft of writing is like staring at a a peice of paper until beads of blood form on your forehead and then staring some more until you can actually put something down on paper.
Ain't that the horrible truth? I've stacks of half started, nightmarishly unedited, and bizzarely fragmented peices scattered about the apartment. I'm amazed that hubby hasn't killed me for it yet. Between my writing efforts and my needlepoint, I'm sure that half of the space available here is used up by lil' ol' me. All I can say is "when will the hurting stop?"
When you're trying to make a carreer out of writing and you get periods of writer's block that last for monts, what on earth do you do? I keep trying to write, but it feels like trying to fly when you're not a birt. Unnatural.
Ah well.. time to suffer some more... perhaps I will have something worth editing by the end of the night. Here's hoping. :p
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