Today is one of those days I’m not getting anything done. For the past three day’s I’ve been binge-watching a new TV show on Netflix, learning to speak Spanish from an app on my phone, and researching all the reasons I should consider making the move to veganism from vegetarianism. And why not? It’s only is a little more complicated and socially awkward for friends and family. Yeah, I know veganism is on the rise. Getting dairy substitutes isn’t all that difficult. But still, I’m not sure I’m ready to cross that rainbow bridge quite yet. My husband, bless his heart, is still getting over the day I announced I was never buying meat again. That was five years ago, and I had to backtrack almost immediately afterward. Because of him, fish makes an appearance twice a week at our house. So technically, I’m pescatarian not vegetarian. But I could be, and that’s the point.
I tell myself that I can take a day off from my writing—especially this year with the pandemic. The pandemic is a good excuse for anything. Want to change your hair? Pandemic cut. Want to redecorate or work through a list of home projects? Sure, you’re at home because of the pandemic. Why not? Want to start a new business from home? Kind of a must, cause maybe your job doesn’t exist anymore.
But writing is my job and I love it. And I know why I’m procrastinating. I’m totally stuck. Not creatively—not exactly. I know where the book is ultimately going. My dilemma is I have a logistic problem that only occurs when a writer doesn’t fully understand her character’s strengths and weaknesses. Just how much can he/she take? How much will kill them or drive them mad? And then what? What will happen if they just lose their shit? How am I going to fix it later?
I know from experience that there is nothing worse than digging yourself into a plot hole that no amount of rewriting will fill. And I hate cutting multiple chapters after I’ve written them. You do it so your character can travel to the past in order to make a different choice, take a different path. Of course it can be done, but I’ll always retain the memory of the events that didn’t make it into the book because that storyline/time continuum offered no clear endings. I think having all these partial outcomes floating around in a single person’s head is what drives writers to drink—a lot. Drink a lot. Like lots. It’s also why time travel is so tricky.
So, I’m watching tv, learning Spanish phrases I might never use, making vegan-friendly grocery lists, and blogging about not writing. Maybe tomorrow my muse will show up to work and give me the answers I’m missing. I hope so. But until then….