Man this week has whizzed by. And tomorrow is my day off. Yay.
The only downside this week has been a distinct lack of co-operation from the muse. Who is currently sitting in the corner doing the muse-ly equivalent of "neener, neener, neener, not playing, nuh-UH".
I know exactly what I have to do to these three chapters. But I cannot sit down and do it. Which I'm sure has nothing to do with the fact if I finish them I have to send them out and the WAITING will start all over again. Or other pending things we are trying not to think about or general puzzlement about where my voice fits. Nooooo.
Not sure what the solution is unless I start drinking very early tomorrow morning. It's gonna be one of those chain yourself to the chair days. Cos I will get this done. Or else.
Not exactly sure what the else is though.
My muse is so much not playing that she sent me another story in a dream last night. Very, very vivid dream and again a distinct point where I thought to myself "this is a story, pay attention". Something to do with a beach with very white sand, a dead sister, two cottages and a hero who I think has a child (so not me). I so do not need another wip right now so all this is getting is some notes. The other books are talking too. All except the one I want, which is kind of just muttering faintly in the back ground while the muse contemplates the unfun-ness of the revisions it needs.
I hate being stuck like this where you can kind of feel it all waiting for you in the distance but it feels like there's something big and sticky and foggy and hard between you and the bit of the brain that writes. Not sure how to shake it. I have fed the Girls the West Wing, Love Actually, Jenny Crusie, Diana Wynne Jones and Terry Pratchett they wanted. Not sure what else to do.
Apart from let it suck and just get the words down. Just in case no-one knows this. WRITING IS HARD.