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I just found this article by Robert Winston about creative block (jncluding writers' block). Lots of interesting stuff there about musicians gassing themselves, but obviously I'm more interested in the writerly bit. I've been pretty open about the fact that I've suffered from depression, and how much I hate this idea that misery equals great creativity*, so I like that Winston notes so many of these composers and writers did not produce their best work during periods of depression. Rather, they struggled through the depression caused by lack of inspiration in order to create.**

I'm not sure how I feel about writers' block; whether it really exists, or whether it's a convenient excuse for not working. I definitely have days when I don't want to write, or can't think of anything to write, but if I make myself do it, I usually get in the swing eventually. I can't remember who said it, but I'm a firm believer in the idea that "you can edit anything except a blank page." In other words, even if you've got 10 pages of crap, that's still 10 pages, right?

On the other hand, I struggled horribly with the original sequel to SILVER KISS, BAD DOGS. Every time I opened the document up to work on it, I became more and more convinced it was utter tripe and would never be as good as SILVER KISS. In the end I was afraid to try to work on it. So I scrapped it, started BLOOD HUNT and found I was much happier. Was that writers' block, or just the wrong project at the wrong time? Or just rampant neuroticism on my part?

What do other people think? Writers, do you get writers' block? Non-writers, do you believe in it, or are we all just...

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I was hoping to get a full 2k done today, but fell just short as the killer headaches I had a few weeks ago returned full force today. I'm blaming this fully and absolutely on the plasma physics professors and their ever-changing schedule of seminars. I'm on the verge of a proper temper tantrum every time I check my emails and see another update from them. It's killing any desire I have to be a productive member of the workforce, I tell you.

Anyway. Where are we at? Still no angry mob, but the catalyst is in place. Bricks have been thrown, wounds have been tended, furious French men have shouted insults at people. It's all moving nicely, my French is appalling, and I apologise for that now. Once the first draft of BLOOD HUNT is done, I'll really need to track down someone who speaks French ... you know, well, and ask them to check it over for me. 

 

25807 / 70000 words. 37% done!

And now I'm going to read in the bath and hope my headache goes away.

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Look at me! I wrote 2k today! I had a bit of a freak-out yesterday that I was basically writing a travelogue of Paris with werewolves in, and decided the best remedy for this was to have Ayla and Shannon... visit a museum... But it's okay, because it's a fictional Museum of Werewolf History, and there was in fact a clue there. Not too obvious a clue, I hope, since I'm still a few chapters away from revealing too much about my sewer monster. I'm really not sure about the pacing of this novel. I can't tell yet if I'm going too fast or not fast enough.

Anyway, in the mean time, someone has just thrown a brick at Ayla, and the only person they know with a first aid kit is another werewolf who Shannon may or may not be noticing a bit too much, if you know what I mean. And on that note, I'm going to bed.

24033 / 70000 words. 34% done!