This is my cat. She’s staring out the window, wondering when all the bird and wildlife action will start. This could be me, staring at my screen, wondering when all the writing action will start. My cat and I have just about the same philosophy on this waiting thing at the moment.
If you’ve met my cat (either of them, in fact) you’ll know that they’re pretty lazy. A lot of resting is involved in their lives, a bit of asking for cuddles and attention, and some eating. That’s about it. As far as action goes, they’re pretty passive about creating it. They just wait.
And the terrible thing is, that’s how my writing’s going at the moment. I have no idea what kind of magical event I’m waiting for, but since I had a great writing burst and got my novel revised and submitted, my fiction writing prowess has gone the way of, well, something that doesn’t exist anymore.
Ideas are still bobbing around in my head, and life is actually not so over-busy that I couldn’t fit in some extra fiction writing time, but it’s just not coming out. This is not writers’ block (I’m not convinced I believe in that yet), this is just fiction writer’s laziness. My current strategy is simply this: if I admit to the world (via this blog) that I’m being lazy about writing fiction at the moment, then I’ll be instantly shamed into starting again. I hope. I’m sure that the inspiration of the coming weekend’s writers festival will get the writing juices flowing too, but I’d like to kickstart them before that. So there you are, now I’m ashamed, and I’m going away to do some fiction writing. (Or cuddle the cat.)
