One of the downsides to writing stories is that it doesn’t really leave a lot of time for writing other things. Shopping lists and to-do lists, sure. I can spit those out in moments (and with little actual spit). But blog posts?
Yeah, I’ve come to realize and accept that I’m not much of a blogger. Should I turn in my writer’s license or something? Golly, but everyone is saying that writers must blog and all that. What about the writing that I really want to do?
But, you know, I haven’t done any “real” writing as of late, either. I did pick a project out of the pile of ideas I’d been conjuring for the past year. I made a to-do list for the planning phase of said project (character bios and motivations, main plotline, subplot #1, subplot #2, and so on). But when it came down to actually crossing off those items, it didn’t happen.
Nothing happened until a week ago.
I can’t say that life got in the way. Life is always there; I exist in it, it’s the reason why I’m here on this plane of existence, so I can’t really say that it got in the way. (I will use the old “life got in the way” excuse if I find it valid. Hypocrisy, thy name is Sabs.) I have to work for a paycheck so I can afford food, lest I resort to digging through trash cans for pizza cheese-encrusted boxes; I must keep up my social life, or I’ll devolve into a Gollum-like creature and take to a damp cave somewhere; and I absolutely need to do chores or the home will turn into a pile even messier than the ideas one.
But once I sat down to generate ideas for all the separate components of the outline (main plot, subplot #1, and so on again), everything came out in a nice, steady spill. I wasn’t struggling or regretting pulling out this project. Something was getting done.
I guess it just took a long break to get the wheels rolling again.
