It is a dreadful thing when one has made up one’s mind to write and the only thing one can find to write about is one’s apparent complete inability to write anything worth reading.
Um, you figured out that “one” is me, right?
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, what’s a blogger to do? Today I’m going to do what has worked for me in the past: just write whatever I can write right now and trust that better words will be forthcoming. what I’m really hoping is that they will be forthcoming today, and I can type this into my Drafts section for use one day when I am really desperate (making a Full Disclosure, of course) (um, as it happens, I am using it today. Don’t judge).
Part of my problem is the weather. It is a sticky, icky day, conducive to lounging around near a fan and doing nothing. Of course I am not doing that; I’m at work (writing on a break, as usual). I remind myself that I have written on such days before but the memory does not seem to help.
My novel plods on. OK, it’s a hot mess. I can’t figure out what I want to happen or even how I would like it to end. I am reminded of a poster hanging in a guidance counselor’s office in my junior high school, “If you don’t know where you are going you will probably end up somewhere else.” I thought it a dire warning at the time. Now I think, “If you enjoy the trip, at least that’s something.” But now I’m making global statements and veering into half-baked philosophy. Leave that for Lame Post Friday, Cindy. We were talking about one novel, not Your Life.
I guess I’m not going to solve my novel problem by writing a blog post about now being able to write. Still, it felt pretty good to put some words on paper. One does what one can, after all.