Creative Exhaustion and Other Atrocities

I have been trying to write a post all week. Nothing, I've got nothing. I didn't know it was possible, but I think I have finally exhausted my creative resources. Maybe I just need some sleep, or to let myself breathe for a minute. I'm not very good at that, I am constantly told I need to relax.

Ahem....

So I might be a little uptight. I am anxiously awaiting my edits from Rooglewood Press, I am both excited and scared. I reread my story, well skimmed it. I can't seem to see past the flaws, so I'm happy I will be getting professional editing help with it.

I also found out that I'm allowed to continue using my characters and world in other stories. I had already started a sequel for it, Fool's Bet. So I got this great idea to try and finish the first draft before 'Falling Snow' is published, so I can release it shortly after it.

After doing the math, I decided that 500 words a day would suffice. I know, 500 words is nothing to most of you. I am, however, an inconsistent writer, or maybe I should say a very particular one. I overthink every line to death, erase, and rewrite as I go along. My first drafts are more like most people's second drafts.

I'm a perfectionist, so nine days of five hundred words has worn me out. I also can't read anything I've written, because it's awful. I'm not even being modest.

I'm going to share the parts I like, which is maybe five sentences.

As my teeth pierced my gums, the sharp tang of fresh blood hit my tongue. This was the last time he would make me bleed.- Cynfael

Cigarette smoke added to the mix, every dwarf seemed to have one dangling from their mouth.  For a moment I could pretend nothing had changed. It was just another night. Snow would be practicing on the high wire, and I would watch her dance across it. Thinking things I had no business to.-Chayse

He was a razor blade, sharp and alluring. To touch him was to accept the risk of getting cut. I was already bleeding.-Snow

So I've been writing. Which is a good thing I guess, but I've seemed to forgotten how. I think it's insecurity. After this contest was over, people started saying how they couldn't wait to read my story which was and is amazing. It's everything I've always wanted! I'm incredibly grateful, you have no idea.

But, there is this small voice telling me that maybe I don't deserve it. My story isn't good enough. I know it's stupid, but it doesn't stop me from thinking it. It's showing in my writing, I'm starting to doubt myself. No one gets it, they expect me to be over the moon. Which I am! 

Self doubt is a hard beast to fight. 

 That basically catches you up. I've been doing a lot of praying and work lately. I always used to be hesitant to call my writing and art work, but it is. It's mentally draining and I wish more people realized that. 

I promise to have a more coherent and interesting post next week. 

  

Character Chats

"For having commitment issues, you are unnervingly consistent in one thing."

I tried to ignore the baiting words, cigarette smoke catching in my lungs. I rolled my eyes and met his icy ones, "And, what's that?"

"Procrastinating." He took a lazy drag, "Your avoidance of doing anything of merit, it's fascinating."

 "That's pretty rude of you, considering one could say you were birthed by my procrastination." I nibbled some popcorn, and took in the spread of images on my screen.

He cringed, "How vulgar!" his tone flat.

I laughed, "Your one to talk. I have to censor you to an outrageous degree."

His lips curled into a cruel smile. A plume of smoke was rising from his cigarette.  "I find it humorous, the story could use some scandalous bits to keep it interesting." He stood and attempted to look at the screen, "Not that it will every see the light of day."

I glared at him and quickly clicked back on Microsoft Word. "Not if you keep being impossible."

"Blaming me for your failings, how very human." His words bore a smugness, that made me want to want to punch him.

"It seems to be a trait in fae as well. " I shot back, knowing how empty and futile it was to argue with him.

He just blew more smoke.

I typed some random words in, and watched as he circled my room.

"Quaint." He observed, his disgust barely disguised as he fiddled with some paint brushes. "If this is the world you have to live in, I can see why you prefer others."

"Right now, I would prefer to be left alone." I muttered, with a sigh.

He smirked, "That could be arranged."

I looked up only to see a trail of smoke coming from his crushed cigarette on the wood floor. "Thanks for nothing..." I muttered, clicking off Word and back onto Pinterest.

So, that is a small sample of what I have been dealing with as I attempt to write a sequel to Falling Snow. It's more or less Cynfael's story, but he seems less then enthusiastic about it.

I was wanting to do a Q&A post with him, so if you have any questions for him. They would be very appreciative. Ask him something personal, I love making him squirm.