More specifically, the work of writing is hard. When it’s easy, when the inspiration flows, when the words are transmitted from my brain onto the page, it’s beautiful. But most of the time, I’m staring off into space, trying to figure out what my characters are doing. Or I’m trying to convince them to stop moping and actually do something to advance the plot. My characters are notorious mopers.
I had a discussion with my mom over Thanksgiving. My mom is insanely cool. I was lamenting the difficulty of writing and how I had a hard time motivating myself. So she talked about how she approaches complicated problems, and basically said that she has to just sit down and do it.
So, that’s what I’m going to try. I have done a little writing already this week. We’ll see if I can get some more in. It’s hard, but if I can actually finish something longer than a short story, I think it will be worth it. Not that there’s anything wrong with short stories! (Well, other people’s, anyway. I’m sure there are tons of things wrong with mine.) /end writerly angst