I didn’t want this blog to be too much like a diary so I resolved to talk about everyone but me most of the time. This entry, however, is going to be entirely about me. You were warned.
I’m writing a book. It’s a problem. The book isn’t a problem, I’m the problem. I have very nearly all of the book written already but I’ve hit a wall. Usually you would think that the problem would be the ending. Oh, no. I have the ending in the bag. And the beginning, as well. I’m really good at beginnings.
It’s the damn middle. I don’t know what I’m doing with the middle bit. I’m completely at sea. It’s gotten to the point where I can’t open my book’s file without having a panic attack. So, I’m just in stasis on this book, hoping I can break myself of the terror and finish typing the rest of the middle.
Meanwhile, I’ve got a new book fully formed in my mind. I sat down today and typed out an outline for it, no problem, no fuss, no panic at all.
Sometimes, I really hate my brain.