“This is too hard. I need an [outliner, word processor, writing program, mindmap program, _____]”
Edgar Allan Poe wrote with pen and ink. Isaac Asimov produced an incredible volume of work with an IBM Selectric. I have two computers and an already amazing assortment of writing tools.
“This is the greatest novel idea ever. I will think about it until it is perfect, then write.”
Oh, come ON.
“This is the worst pile of drivel ever. There is no reason to [keep writing, revise, publish, _____]”
Worst pile of drivel? Ever? Really? Did I actually read that waste of wood pulp that my formerly favorite author just released last month (for which I paid money I earned by freezing on a movie set for 13 hours)?
“I don’t know what to write here. I don’t know where this story’s going.”
Of course I don’t. If I knew where it was going, I wouldn’t have to write it.
All of the above are examples of one simple thing: FEAR. Yes, I’ve gone through “The Artist’s Way” by Julia Cameron, done all the exercises. I know exactly how that fear was installed. Knowing doesn’t help. Doing exercises to rid myself of it doesn’t help a lot. (Blogging, BTW, doesn’t help all that much. Been blogging off and on for more than 15 years. Still haven’t published any fiction.)
The only thing I’ve found so far that works is writing anyway. Keeping on writing, revising (and eventually publishing and marketing, I hope.) My son taught me during this NaNoWriMo that if I don’t know where the story’s going, just keep writing and it will go SOMEWHERE.
Yes, this is a thinly-disguised pep-talk to me. Right now, I need to keep revising my novel, no matter how much I want to give up. The only thing that is stopping me is fear, in one of the many disguises my brain dresses it up in.
Right. Three more days of output broken down today. There’s my goal.