I sat down this morning to get words. On anything. I have a slew of unfinished short stories to choose from — I figured if I got words and finished any or all of those stories, that would be good. I could take one to the workshop at the end of this month (for which workshop I have, that's right, no story ready), I could get them all ready for submission.
Instead? I came up with a new story. And the beginning for it — not the words that start it all, oh no, nothing so easy, but I know where and why it starts. Just not the how. I also know the ending. It's the middle I'm kinda having trouble with, and that bugs me because for a short story I should be able to see that far ahead. (Maybe I can, and I'm doing that whole "ignoring the details in the middle because it doesn't seem enough even though it is" trick my conscious brain seems so fond of.)
But, and here's the kicker, do you think I can get words on it? No. Oh no. It kinda feels like week six at Clarion, with all those crit-voices camped in the back of my head, and nothing can stand up to that. The pressure, the pressure 😉
Okay, removing tongue from cheek now.
I've written down snippets, all of which wouldn't add up to 100 words probably, but that's not really a start.
Lucky there's nothing good on the idiotbox tonight.