As many of you will know, I’ve been in a shedload of pain recently and I’ve had to stop sewing, crochet…so many of the things I did to distract myself from the shitstorm that 2020 has become. I thought I might be able to try writing again but the laptop weighs a ton (to me) and my arms and fingers can’t cope with lifting it up and down. Bless my lovely husband George, who has bought me a Chromebook so I can manage to pick it up and write whenever the inclination occurs.
I’ve had it for a few days now and while not steep, there is a learning curve to ChromeOS when one is used to Windows. But I’m on it now and have a fair understanding of what’s what. I have sat down with its little screen open, keyboard primed for my fingers to start to tap tap tap… but nothing has been happening.
I cannot write.
I have a list of short story ideas saved, but none appeals. I have six novels planned out, some in more detail than others, and I cannot decide which one I should work on. They run from black comedy to contemporary to lit fic and every time I think I’ve chosen one, I worry it’s the wrong choice and can’t go further than opening the file.
I have no idea what to do.
I really want to write: I enjoy the process; I love the excitement when the right words find themselves in the right patterns for magic to occur on the page; I giggle when my characters tell me something about themselves that I didn’t know. But for now all my creations are as animated as shop mannequins.
Do any of my writing friends find themselves with the same problem? Is it a COVID issue? An anxiety issue? A lack of talent issue? And if you’ve been in this situation yourself, how the heck did you get out of it? I want to create something. No, I NEED to create something, to lose myself in the creation and forget COVID/Trump/Boris/Terror/Selfishness and make something worthwhile, as hokey as that sounds.
All suggestions gratefully received.