I’ve been going through a bad spell the past few weeks. I can’t call it writer’s block, because I have a couple of in-progress projects on the go. And I can’t call it stagnation, because I have clear visions of where I want to take these projects (or, rather, where I hope they take me).
Everything feels forced and meh. I’m someone who is easily bored and I dislike predictability. And that’s how the writing feels. Predictable. Stagnant. Am I writing a good story or am I stitching words together to build an adequate quilt? At the moment, neither. It’s frustrating. And this is neither a pity party nor am I fishing for compliments. I know I can write, and when it’s there, I can feel it. But I’m not feeling it. There is passion in my thoughts, but not on the page.
I know it will come back, it always has before. And I am my own worst critic, and that critic is telling me I should take up macrame.
Meantime, I’ll keep looking for that zone. For that… something.