Writer’s block is often a problem, though rarely from a lack of ideas. It’s more brought on by a lack of motivation to write the next bit of dialogue – which I hate doing – or to figure out how to get from one scene to the next in a natural, yet interesting, way. Or else, slightly more positively, there’s the fear of spoiling what might be, so far, a good piece of work.
Some days each word takes an excruciating amount of effort, and the word counter at the bottom of the document barely seems to move, much like the clock measuring how long I’ve been working.
But then on other days words just seem to flow. The story seems worth telling again, exciting even, and forming sentences is a pleasure. I begin to feel like that interesting, slightly mysterious, writer sat in the corner that I dream of being.
And for these days, it’s worth ploughing through the ‘work’ days, sticking at it in the dry spells when even fifty words is a major achievement.
Writing is fun and sexy, just like playing a musical instrument, or dancing a complicated routine. But it takes effort, practice, behind the scenes moments when it seems impossible. It’s only through the effort, practice, sweat, that something of worth can be accomplished.