Writer’s block is something I am heartily sick of.
I’ve been nearly done with the Hollowpoint write-up for almost two weeks now. I’ve missed the funding windows on most of the Kickstarter campaigns I wanted to talk about. I haven’t managed a single new word on the Reign of Winter journal. Every time I try to write something, I get a few words in, at most a paragraph, and then compulsively delete it because it doesn’t feel right to me. I try to think of new things to write about to just get me working again, and my brain gives me snippets of the work of Tennyson, Yeats and Coleridge (for those of you who didn’t go to high school with me, the last is a form of cruel torture. I hate Coleridge’s work, with the exception of Kubla Khan and The Rime of the Ancient Mariner), and fragmented dialogue from Titus Andronicus.
Sadly, that’s all I have to say right now.
Written while listening to my heart pounding and my mind screaming. Also some Chevelle, but mostly the mental screaming thing.