Writing…Period
I am having trouble. It is the fucking voice. It is like writing underwater. Or with a cold. When I re-read what I have done, my ears stop up. The story is so drearily flat. My character is as goddam passive as I am.
It is difficult to envision activity. Purposeful movement toward a goal. Hell, it’s hard enough to imagine goals. I ran across something the other day when I was looking at writing quotes (instead of writing). It was so perfectly apt I had to go back and find it.
A good novel tells us the truth about its hero; but a bad novel tells us the truth about its author. ~G.K. Chesterton
The novel is all MST3K-variety “rock climbing”. Variations of the same scene, running in a continuous loop, and no progress. Hell, I’m not even killing words with it.
This is almost as bad as the second year’s book. In that case, I had more of a character in mind and not much of a glimmer as to a plot. Now, there is something of a plot, not so much story, and the character refuses to deliniate herself.
I know what she ought to be like. It’s in the notes. Stubborn bitch seems to want to stay there.
