April 28th, 2019

Jeez I let myself burn out hard. This morning I had to take 3 hours extra sleep just to function today. I hated doing it but I would have been on 5 hours again without it. I am a ball of stress at the moment and nothing seems to be scratching it. Oh and believe me, I have tried everything conventional at this point.

So is this why Taft has stalled like learner driver at the front of a long queue at the lights? Well, I think so? But I feel so clouded by this damn state that I don’t know for sure. It’s not writers block – I don’t really believe in that like I used to anymore – and I am pretty sure I am not ill. I feel fine, except I also feel like something intangible is pulling my insides in all directions at once. It’s, not a pleasent feeling, but I am certain it’s anxitety based.

I’m writing this at 7:30 at night because I have been out of kilter all day. I haven’t even had my shower yet as that’s a 7am ritual, and well, I slept. I did some sketching and a bit of high concept planning, but my wordcount is a big fat 0. I knew there would be times like this ahead but this last couple of weeks – and I mean almost to the day because it started around if not on the 14th – have been awful for my creativity.

I have wondered if I put on too many weights by trying to chain two stories back to back, especially two that are so radically different. The thing is I do still struggle to be jazzed about Taft enough to do it right, and that pains me. I still like the story, but I can’t find the magic. I don’t want it to die, not least as it would cause major repocussions for the entire series if it did.

The trio of Unreachable, Volcano and Taft are what I always called the “Fundamental Trilogy” – the trio that form the bedrock of everything that comes after them. In these three stories I set the stage, introduce two of my key protagnists, the multiverse model and the Break – the event that causes this series of events to break off from the wider multiverse. Taft has to nail that; it might be the pressure getting to me.

Whatever is causing this feeling, I hate it. I want it to go away so I can go back to doing what I love. I’ve written log lines for Taft, matched the plot against everything from the hero’s journey to Save the Cat’s plot model, and I truly believe it is a great story for it. There is something inside me I haven’t found yet, the missing piece that gets me over this hurdle and into the series’ proper.

I have no idea what I will write today. I am going to try to write Taft, as that is what I am desperate to do, but I have no idea how that is going to go. If I fail, I might do another short story; yesterday I wrote a write up of what I could learn from Avengers: Endgame and the wider MCU for my own work, but I chose not to publish it, at least yet, as it naturally contains spoilers.

I feel a bit trapped and lonely. If I am honest I feel very lonely. I think the quantity and quality of my work has suffered for it. When I used to struggle, I always assured myself that the pain would make the words better; in retrospect it didn’t, and I had a lot of improvements to make to my style. I still do. But now, I don’t have that same borderline narsassistic comport blanket to take the edge off.

I think one of the problems is I am in a dark unsettling place in my head at the moment. I know this because when I get this way, I start wanting to write The Wanderer, and that is messed up. I hate indulging that character on a page even if they are just as fundamental to the series as the three books mentioned above. I also want to write my series in order, not jump around erratically – that’s what the Oreacle is for, my 40,000 word encyclopedia of the series and its workings.

You know what, screw it I’m going for a walk. Yes I want to get done early today so I can sleep on time but I want to do some real writing damn it. I do not want to go back to the early days where I wrote 50 days of rambling Google Docs like this but counted it towards target. I needed it at the time, and I am grateful I did it because it kept 1K alive. But this is my outlet for those angsty feelings now, and I do not count these words. If I did this would be 841 words.

It’s 0 words. I am better than that. I have to find the willpower to ressurect a story I have been burning to write for six long years. It’s so overdue it hurts. Ok so Volcano was at least seven years but that if anything makes it worse. My head hurts and I don’t want to blind it with alcohol until I have target in hand.

I have an idea.