There are days when writing feels more like being a janitor for my muse.
Sometimes when you’re writing, you come to a point where you realize something isn’t working. You might not be able to put your finger on it, but whatever it is needs to be changed. I’ve been avoiding Lorcan’s story for this reason.
Aren’t all authors brilliant procrastinators?
It can’t just be me.
I watched a game of footie recently (soccer). It was a brilliant match, well played, but no goals scored. The chapters I’ve written for Lorcan feel just like that game. Flashes of brilliance, but not the climax I’m striving toward.
Then sob pitifully into a pint of sea salt caramel ice cream.
Followed by picking my pen up and starting to write again.