Bootstrap up, Princess.

I sat at my computer for nearly half an hour, trying to get something written for the posting this week. The blank space and the blinking cursor just staring at me, mocking me with every second that ticked by. Each flash of the cursor reminded me you're stuck, you're stuck, you're stuck. Stupid insensitive cursor.

Excuses started running through my head: the insomnia has been hounding me again, the winter weather has me kind of blue, my beloved dog isn't doing so well. How can I create (cue dramatic flourish, add a beret or a white scarf) when all of this is going on around me, sapping my artistic spirit, silencing my muse? How can I be expected to work when I don't feel like working?

And then the ol' logic center kicked in: because if I expect to be treated like a professional one day, I have to start acting like one now. Editors aren't going to expect any less than any other employer just because my job entails writing a book. Deadlines aren't going to apply to everyone else but me. If I'm going to be taken seriously, I'm going to need to stop whining.

Sigh. It's too bad, though, because I look pretty snazzy in a beret. :)

Of Method and Madness...and Bad Guys.

So I'm stuck.

I'm at a critical point in my plotting process, a must-happen series of events, otherwise the rest of the project won't have the necessary impact later on as events unfurl. And I'm stuck.

Not that I'm lost. I know what I need to have happen, it's all up there in my head, waiting. The thing is, the events are being carried out by my antagonist. And he's a very bad man. Evil, really. And it's some very bad stuff that he's doing. Irredeemable things. Things that make my skin crawl. I'm dragging my feet because I don't want to climb into his dark little skull.

The adage "write what you know" usually doesn't fail me. I mean, I may not know exactly what it's like to find myself on a international search for the one thing that is going to save all mankind, but looking for my wallet or keys can sometimes feel tantamount. :) Seriously, though, most things in the human emotion and experience gamut can be applied to most of the things I write. Most everyone can identify with love, loss, joy, sorrow, anger, etc. Even the little not-so-nice things people do (lie, steal, cheat) can be relate-able. But this is a point of view that is completely outside normal.

The one and only time I've had exposure to a person remotely close to what my antagonist is like was a very uncomfortable and frightening experience. The thought of purposely thinking in a similar manner leaves me a bit uneasy. Hmm, maybe I'll just bust out a copy of the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders and hope for the best.

Oh, well. I guess that's the price to pay for a good story. Now I just need to treat this like a band-aid: grip it and rip it. :)