Tuesday, February 7, 2012

Where I am

Have I been working on any of the things I mentioned in my last post? No, I have not. I have been contemplating and thinking about other writing related things. My problem is a matter of applying my butt to a chair and working till I'm bleeding on the keyboard. I just suck at it. As much as I want to write, I keep putting it off.

I am trying to get myself back on track and to find a way of re-focusing myself, but it seems a little hard. I don't even understand why I keep putting off something that I love doing. Something that I want to do.

I'm pretty sure I'm not going to be picking up Grounds to Leaves again, but I could be wrong. I am working (or attempting to work on) a short story from last year, another short series currently titled "Under the Maple Tree" and I'm trying to nail down some novel plots. A re-work of something from NaNo 11 and still trying to 'perfect' my NaNo 09 novel for draft number 3.

Any good suggestions on finding ways to get myself to do some applying of the butt to the chair? Maybe I should finish putting my office together and re-setup my desktop so that I can type in a room dedicated to that purpose. That might just help some. Organization is something that makes it easier for me to work, but not something currently found in my office/storage space.

I wanted to leave you with a small quote from something I'm currently working on, but instead I'll leave you with something from a story started and abandoned. Maybe I might pick it up again one day....
Jai sat up straight, trying to catch her breath, her hand paused halfway to the knife that she kept hidden beside her bed. There was no sound that disturbed the darkness, no light that penetrated into her room from the single window above her hammock. There was nothing that could have disturbed her beyond her own mind.
As the last foggy fingers of sleep slipped away, she began to relax. It had been a dream, a particularly disturbing one, but just a dream. It was not something she was prone to. Her dreams were usually fleeting and jumbled, quickly dissipating with the rising of the morning sun. She wondered at the significance of it.