So I’m going to admit that I haven’t written in more than a week. It’s really depressing. Mental constipation. Mostly I feel like I’ve met a road block. It’s different than the fog I faced before that clouded up a scene or two. This is massive; like I stumbled straight into a brick wall and I can’t see anything around it. All the sudden I have no idea what I’m doing with my work.
I feel that I’ve lost direction. I think it may have a little to do with the sequel that I’ve been mulling over. The beginning of the sequel might completely change the ending of this novel. I think that’s exactly why I feel like so clueless all the sudden. In the past few months, I had everything about my work developed for the first time in my writing career. I knew the characters like the back of my hand, I knew where they were headed and what would happen to them. I had everything from the first to the last chapter planned out, and now… nothing.
I can’t express how frustrated I am. I feel like I’m losing myself as I lose the plot. What’s worse is that I’ve been encouraging my distraction by a new obsession: The Hunger Games. Fascinating and amazing series. I don’t like Collins’ writing style, but as far as the plot is concerned, my work pales in comparison. I ate up her books like a starving dog. And even when I wasn’t reading, I was thinking about her characters, my beloved Peeta. I’m sure that this distraction is aiding the loss of focus in my own work. I really need to stop reading other book series when I’m busy working on my own. Perhaps I got side tracked because of how similar her constructed world is to mine.
So anyway, I waited a few weeks to see if the wall would crumble and reveal my path. I read the Hunger Games trilogy and waited. Still nothing. My only hope is to suppress the obsession with someone else’s work and thrust myself, fingers first, into my writing again. There is no laxative for the mind; I can only hope that pressing forward, whether what I produce is crap or not, will loosen the mechanisms and get things going again. And suddenly I’ve realized how much I’ve compared my work ethic to an intestinal tract. Eww.
Stupid Hunger Games.