I like to let my mind wander when I hit a wall. They call that writer’s block. I don’t really feel like I’m blocked in any way. On the opposite, my brain is hyper active and it gets difficult sometimes to exactly know which direction I want to take with my story.
Writing a novel is hard. Working on a sequel is harder. All the convoluted twists I need to develop as I go along with my plot drive me absolutely insane. I know it’s not supposed to be easy; if it was, everybody could write a good book. I take it as being part of the process, the natural maturation of an idea that never stops growing to become a beautiful flower… Right now, my flower is scentless, colorless; all I have is a stem and a few petals, if you could even call them that. My flower looks sick, underdeveloped, malnourished, as if ready to fade.
My story is good, at least I know that for a fact. I just need to take a break… Even the simplest words can’t come right now. I don’t like to force it, it feels like bad drunken sex to me. Almost there, but never quite there yet.
Tomorrow will be better. It has to be.
The Manicheans 