I have writer's block. I've had it for the last four months. I generally haven't been posting here on my LJ unless I've had pictures to show you, because thinking of words without pictures is just too hard.
My sister thinks I should "simply" start another story, and forget about the pig. But the poxy pig story has to be completed, otherwise it will fester in the back of my brain until the day I die.
For the first evening in a while, I've had three whole uninterrupted hours when I could've got a bit of writing done. Instead I've been sitting here, trying to work out why the block started in the first place.
I got depressed at the beginning of June, for reasons entirely unrelated to writing. But the pig story is supposed to be funny. Turns out I can't be funny when I'm depressed. This knocked my confidence, which made me more depressed. Etc.
Time. During April and May, Matt took on an unfair share of the household nonsense, because he was as keen as me to see me beat my deadline. The deadline swooshed by, as deadlines do, and I felt too guilty at the continuing domestic inequality so I started doing my share of the chores once more. Chores are wonderfully distracting, and you feel like you've achieved something at the end of the day. Much more satisfying than trying and failing to be funny in a story.
The good news is that I'm not depressed any more. I've been generally quite perky since we went to Paris (if you don't count my recent mini meltdown over property prices and income).
Time is still an issue, though.( Cut for boring details. )
I've tried (briefly) getting up much earlier in the mornings so that I can get some quality writing time in at the start of every day. It didn't work. I can't go to bed early. The evening teaching routine messes it all up. On the bright side, that means I have at least 2 useful hours after 9.00pm on weeknights.
I should stop feeling guilty for not writing during the day, maybe. I could spend the free daylight time doing other stuff instead. Evenings could be writing time. Come home. Have tea with Matt. Write. Go to bed.
There's no point trying to write on Sundays. I declare Sundays a writing-free zone for me. I'm inclined to keep Saturdays clear too. It'd be nice to have a day each week where Matt and I can just spend time together without feeling like we should be rushing off to visit someone or do something useful etc.
Okay. Weeknights, after tea. No word quota. No angsting. 250 words is better than 100 words, but 100 words is better than no words. If too knackered to write hilarious prose, I should at the very least read over what I've already got and try to tighten it up.
Ha. That was actually useful! I was going to ask you lot for advice, but I think I've got it all sorted out now.
Right. I'm going to have a cup of tea and then I'm going to play a few of the Goldberg Variations. Huzzah!