I really don't know why it's called "writer's block." Isn't it really just fear? Writer's block comes off as this giant monster that won't let you advance your plot, but really it's just being scared.
I'm scared right now. I'm writing my second draft and it's even harder than the first. During the first, I gave my all. I wrote even when I didn't think I could. Now I have to turn right around and do that all over again? How? Yeah, I have a bunch of notes jotted on my first draft, but the notes just look like scribbles now. Ideas that I had that I thought were good now look stupid.
I'm trying to let the story unfold without a lot of manipulation. I'm trying to listen to my characters and let them tell me who they are instead of making up their minds for them. I'm trying to realize what needs to be changed and what can stay.
I can have a million outlines and a million notes, but nothing is going to help me when I finally sit down and tackle the beast. Writing is lonely. Even with my boyfriend, John, sitting less than 10 feet away, I'm alone with my story.
He asked me a question a few minutes ago that I hadn't really thought about. He said, "Do you ever worry that a scene you wrote that's full of emotion won't come across to the average reader?"
And I was like, "Whatever, no." Or maybe I said, "Sometimes." But 'sometimes' is my stock answer for when I don't really know. But then it hit me, yes. I'm worried. I worry about everything. I'm the QUEEN of worry. I'm worried this blog post is going to come off crazy.
This is the time when writing isn't enough. I want greatness. Is that too much to ask? Greatness comes at a price. You can't just put words together and call it great. It has to evoke emotion in the people who are exposed to it. I want to do that.
I want my words to mean something. Whatever that means.