Taking a break.

What to write? I don't do this daily as I'm supposed to but tonight of all nights I am forcing my self. Mostly because I'm burned out on writing for the moment. I need to read a good book but I have none on hand. Well, none that I haven't read recently. I haven't had time to stop anywhere to look for something either. I went shopping last week and stopped by some best sellers but nothing jumped out at me. Absolutely everything is about vampires and as big of a fan as I am, I'm burned out on those as well.

A new story idea popped into my head tonight but to be honest I'm not actually too excited about it at the moment. I think that comes from the burnt out place that I'm in. Can't write about it here...

What to do??????

I'm amazed at how few original stories there are these days. Of course most of what I have to go by is movies. It's easier than reading about every new book that comes out. Most of everything is a remake of some sort. Depressing really. The same goes for music. Love stories are all about the love triangles and the ungettable gets or about sex. All similar.

I wonder where Lewis Carol came up with the idea for Alice in Wonderland? brilliant. Or how did Jane Austen steal our hearts with all her love stories? I know they had to experience it to some degree or at least witness it from a distance. I need to free my head. My story doesn't excite me anymore. Hopefully it's just a phase. What will be will be.

My brain is empty tonight. For once I didn't start a blog with "So". Pat on the back to me. It is though, empty. I can't think of a single thing. Actually that's not true. The thought just crossed my mind yet again that I have no education. That I'm trying to "run with the big dogs". Now, granted, I'm not actually trying to run with the big dogs quite yet, I haven't even left the porch. I was watching Harry Potter today and the half-blood prince and I decided to look up JK Rowling on Wiki. Here I'd always heard of how she went from living in her car to being a millionaire all with in five years but when I look up her history,  there's a lot more to her story. She went to college or a "university" as they like to call them in Britain. She was a teacher and she was actually going back to school. I bet writing came easy to her. I bet she didn't struggle with spending half and hour to write the perfect sentence. I can't remember the exact time but I believe she banged out all seven books in less that ten years. Amazing and intimidating. I'm not ever usually on a soap box but I figure if this is my private blog I can certainly whine all I want.

Anyway, for some strange reason I'm not in the mood to write tonight. I know it takes me a while to get into the zone but my heads not in it tonight so I decided to blog instead. I'm looking into getting a new book to read. I think I've found one but it's not to be released until April 26th so I'll be waiting. The one thing I have a problem with reading while I'm writing is I don't what to be reading a book and have it worm it's way or it's story into my story. Or what about the type of book? What if it puts me in to an "action" type zone and then I take my story in that direction and it doesn't fit with the rest? I'm also afraid that reading someone Else's best seller will  intimidate me while I'm writing. Intimidated enough to make me give up. I don't know. It's just another one of my struggles.  Anyway, I'm tired tonight so I think I'll give into my body and call it a night.

next time.

My battle

So, I'm really battling tonight. Battling with insecurities and fear. I think of my story and I fear it's not original. I think of my writing and fear it's not up to par. I get on amazon and read about books similar to mine and theirs seem like far better stories. I feel inadequate and uneducated. I felt I'd possibly found my calling and once again I doubt myself. It's almost as if I need to learn a different language. Actually learning french or Spanish would probably be easier. I can see everything play out in my head from the tiniest detail to the smell of the air but I'm having problems transferring it in to words on paper. I know you have to start somewhere and I know no one begins perfect but I feel like a first grader trying to compete at Harvard. Sometimes it takes me forever just to write one sentence just up to my standards. Imagine how high everyone else's will be. The flow of the sentence has to be just right or I sometimes have trouble going on. I just need a short break. I need to read something inspiring.

A promise to myself.

So I told someone else about my book last night. She's the one person that I decided from the get-go that would be the only person I could trust to read it and give me constructive criticism. It was so nerve racking. We'd gone to see a movie (The new Jane Eyre, which I loved) and we were having dinner afterward, I'd been considering telling her since the night before. I went back and forth, back and forth. Afraid that if I told her I'd jinx myself that somehow all the ideas would drain from my head and then it would be as I feared just a phase. Not something real. So as we sat there munching away on our salads watching everyone cruise the loop, I began to sweat and I told her, "I have a secret I want to tell you." Her eyes were huge with wonder. Immediately I eliminated one of her thoughts, "and no, I'm not pregnant." I think she'd been holding her breath the way she exhaled. So as I sat there mustering up the courage to finishing telling her my secret she waited almost becoming impatient. I apologized and said it was just hard to say but assured her it wasn't anything bad then she corrected me, "what might be great for you could be bad for everyone else. You're not moving are you?" I laughed and told her no. I told her that my secret would not affect anyone or change anything. So as I sat there taking a deep breath feeling the breeze under my arms grow cooler against their sweating I began, "Now, I'm sure you're first response would be to laugh at me because I would certainly laugh at someone who told me this. Not in cruel way but in a "sure you are... " kind of way." Her eyes begged me to tell her already. I told her "I know, I know, I'm getting to it. Now I've built it up to be this big thing and it's really not." I took one more deep breath and closed my eyes, "I'm writing a book." And of course her response was supportive and happy, she thought it was great. "Why would I laugh at that?" she exclaimed. I told her because in my mind if someone told me that I'd think "sure... and next week you'll be a sculpture artist and the week after that you can be a cowboy." But she was supportive as I knew she would be and asking what the book was about. I told her I'd started it last July and the first couple of months just seemed to be research. I told her I only had fifteen chapters, that when I hit a wall I'd have to do more research. I confided in her my fear of lack of education and poor writing abilities. She urged me to not let my fear of that stop me and to  keep reading other books and reminded me the best writers are readers. So as she drove me home I told her about my story. Now the only other person than myself to know the story. I was afraid to tell anyone premature, afraid they would only think I was doing it for the attention. I babbled away on the drive home, jumping from one detail to the next, from one character to the next. She would occasionally ask questions about my story and I always had an answer. I almost felt like I was telling her a story of something that happened to me. So as she dropped me off at my house I asked her what she thought of my story. She told me she loved it and looked forward to reading it. She said she was impressed with all the research I'd done and how many actual historical facts I'd included. I was relieved. Not at her approval but that what I thought was a great story, indeed sounded like a great story to someone else. We said our goodbyes and I walked in my house, anxious to write. I think I only banged out a couple pages but it was a couple pages more than what I had. And when I finally went to bed, I tossed and turned as the ideas floated in and out of my head the ideas turned to dreams but of course when I woke they were fuzzy and random only bits and pieces of the ideas they started as. But that tells me one thing, my subconscious is as excited as my conscious...
I'm reminded now of last week when I googled for more help on  writing and I came across a blog by Scott Berkun. The blog was titled "Is your book idea good?" His answer? Yes, I promise. If it excited you and captivates you  it will do the same to others. As I went back over the evening in my mind listening to my story being told out loud it excited me all over again and confirmed my feelings and now only drives me to finish it. I know it won't happen over night and it might take another year but I will. I'm promising myself.