Entertaining Myself Is Part of the Cure for Writers’ Block

October 9th, 2022

I am back with a update for fall quarter. Yes, I am still brainstorming a name for the quarter. I might have to stick with this.

I am having a rough start with Blood of the Fallen. Do you remember in my last update, I mentioned how I spent years struggling to find the root of my editing problem, only to be told in my last SCAD class that Axe was the main character instead of Lucy?

Well, I found a way to make things harder for myself by changing Axe’s ethnicity. Imagine my surprise when Axe’s clear voice suddenly became harder to hear. His mannerisms changed and I quickly realized I had no idea what I was doing.

My partner reminded me about something that I forgot about thoroughout my writing journey. He reminded me that I, the writer, need to have fun with what I’m writing. I started writing for other people and lost steam. Blood of the Fallen started out as a passion project, like all of my work, and I was shooting myself in the foot by putting other people before myself.

I was no longer having fun and I was ignoring the signs of this happening. My headaches and frustration didn’t clue me in that I had lost the plot and my love for the project I was working on. I made the mistake of thinking yesterday’s work was one hundred percent (100%) progress. Don’t get me wrong, writing a solid chapter two in one day is great. However, chapter two didn’t come out how I wanted it to. Axe didn’t sound like himself. I learned that I made a mistake, so we’re back-pedaling.

Now that I am armed with a new sense of purpose, “to entertain myself first,” I feel more prepared for the next step. I’m not going to scrape my first couple of chapters. I’ll fix them later. The goal is to keep moving, to finish the first draft.

I’ll keep you updated as I move forward. I had to remind myself that it has been a while since I prioritized my own entertainment. I know I’ll enjoy the next chapter.

Bits I’d like to keep

Keeper life is all I know. All I will ever know. Some of us get lucky and can have our health and love, like Clem, but others can only have one. Like me. I don’t get to choose, either. It’s one or the other until we retire or until a vampire kills us.
I have to go. The thought sparks urgency in me.
I squeeze my eyes tight as I imagine a young Lucy in front of a birthday cake. What was her tenth birthday like? A year after she said goodbye to us? Did she even remember us by that point?

The werewolf has changed back into his human form. The person staring at me has the round face of a teenager. He looks at me with those agonized eyes and mumbles, “Please finish me off.”
I hide my face with one hand, my knees buckling. Finish him off. The thought gives me strength. I crouch down, my fingers wrapping around the handle of my axe again, and I stand up. I don’t reach full height this time. Instead, I am hunched over as I stumble to him.
“I’m so sorry,” I say to him, my voice cracking.
The tortured person swallows before he says, “It’s better than living like this for the rest of my life.”
Our eyes lock. He arches his eyebrows at me and winces at the pain. He sinks into the pavement and closes his eyes.
“Thank you,” he says as I raise my axe.
“I’m going to hell.” I say to him.
He nods once. “Me too.”
My hand shakes as I raise it higher. No more suffering. I tell myself.