Writer's Block

I haven't written anything on my NaNo novel for over a week now. I'm not quite ready to throw the towel in on the whole month, but it would take some serious heavy-duty writing sessions to get me back on track at this point. The writing stopped when I got to a break in the story. See, my premise this time was to have Anna get kidnapped in the beginning of the story and then Frank tries to save her but is unsuccessful and she ends up having to save herself, the result of which is that she loses faith in Frank and probably goes through post traumatic stress or something, so she decides to go stay with her mother in the country for a while, where she does a bunch of soul searching and then a new love interest comes around and then it's all, "is she going to get back with Frank or is she going to stick with the new guy?"

But there are a few things. First of all, I felt uber-creepy when I was writing the kidnapping scenes, because I vacillated between wanting the villains to be really villainy and having empathy for them and their motives. So sometimes they're these vile characters but sometimes they're almost..appealing. Clearly I have read too many Iris Johansen novels in my day, where the dangerous dark handsome stranger with the sinister motives ends up saving our heroine and becoming the love interest. So anyway, yes, I couldn't quite make up my mind with that part.

Also, Anna and Frank kept fighting about whether or not she was going to move in with him, which is how the second novel opens. In a way, I found myself wanting to split them up sooner rather than later. Then there's the business with Frank being unsuccessful at finding Anna, which makes me kind of disappointed in him as a character. I mean, when I first wrote Frank last year he was the consummate hero, saving the day exactly when and how Anna needed it. He was romantic in just the right way, forward in just the right way, reticent in just the right way....he was perfect. In this second book, I find myself annoyed with his imperfections. He is so clingy and overprotective with Anna in the beginning of the book, then he utterly fails to get any leads on her kidnapping (which is really my fault, to be fair), and completely doesn't save the day. What good is a handsome boyfriend who can't even save you from being kidnapped?

I know, it sounds like I don't want him to be human, and I guess I don't. Imperfection is all fine and good for real men, but fictional men (especially ones I am writing about) should be exactly the way I want them to be, dammit.

I'm still excited about the possibilities of the story line. I'm intrigued with the idea of exploring Anna's relationship with her mom and potentially a new love interest, plus seeing if Anna and Frank's relationship will grow and change or if it will just fall apart. I honestly don't know what will happen.

Okay, maybe I need to start writing again.

xo,
C

Fakesgiving

I threw a small housewarming dinner party last night in my new place. It was all folks from work plus some of their significant others. I had a good time, though of course I made myself a little crazy stressing out over details and worrying about whether everyone was comfortable. We ate thanksgiving food (I roasted a turkey, not my best effort but not a total disaster either) and drank wine and beer and played Trivial Pursuit and Uno and had fun, but once everyone left I was struck with the feeling that I still hadn't quite yet found my tribe.

At least now the apartment is clean and there's leftover wine and turkey and pie.

Stressed

Lately I find myself going in so many directions that I feel like I'm hardly doing any of it well. School has been a trial, as usual. Throw moving into the middle of the work/school conglomeration (not to mention NaNoWriMo), and all of a sudden my life is a big quivering pile of demands, obligations and overly critical thoughts. I don't know how I do it all. I don't know why I do it all. It's like at some point I decided that the only way for my life to have value is if I crammed as much experience into it as possible. Also, if I can continue to distract myself by being super-busy, I won't notice that I'm really kind of running in place. When do I stop powering through something because I believe the long-awaited end result will make me happier? When does the plain ol' enjoyment of life happen?

I don't know the answers to these questions. Hopefully someday I will.