Last night I was out to dinner with a couple of writer pals. We met via our blogs and became fast friends. We try to get together once a month. Last night we were having dinner at a lovely southern restaurant, South City Kitchen (go, get the fried chicken, thank me later). Sarah asked me about the novel I have(n’t) been writing. I shrugged my shoulders.
“I haven’t written a single additional word. I’m stuck.”
Paige said, “Is this the novel you’ve been writing for–”
“Eight. Million. Years,” I said. “I’m never going to finish it.”
“Well, how far are you?”
Yeah. “Well do you want to talk it out? Because I was recently at this place with my work and it helped to talk it out with a couple of people.” Paige was sweet to offer, but I was really about to cry. I am SO frustrated with all of my writing lately. I told her I didn’t want to talk about it because if I did, a tear would fall.
“Well, we could talk about dating!” Sarah suggested, a bright, cheery smile on her face. She WOULD suggest dating. She is the only one of us, since she is recently engaged, kissing a man on a regular basis.
I sighed. “So my book is about these three women…”
In happier news, I was able to write a short fanfiction story for a challenge at the archive. All is not lost… but I guess if I am not writing about former popstars, it’s a no go?
So, I am pushing myself to work on it some this weekend, at least get in 1,000 words, in addition to updating my serial, for which new chapters have been lacking. All of the information is in my head… filling it out in fictional format and making it a lovely experience to read is a whole another banana.