It was humiliating to admit that dream last week threw my writing mojo off. Here I thought I'd evolved into a "mature writing business woman".
Blagh! So much for that.
After emotionally recovering from the dream like the baby I am, I'd lost the writing rhythm. Both blog writing and book writing. It was hard to even get my ass to the Saturday Starbucks writing session!
I resented myself. Resented my story. Resented my characters.
I sat pouting at my screen, throwing a full blown mental tantrum.
"You're not leaving here until you at least write two scenes, you little brat," I told myself.
"No, I refuse."
"Fine, sit there staring at the screen like the idiot you are, then," I scolded.
And I did, for a good twenty minutes, until I knew I was serious with myself.
"Fine, I'll write ONE scene you jerk."
"No, two, but you can start with one."
(I can be a smartass sometimes, even with myself.)
Four scenes later I sat pissed off because my keyboard's battery died and I couldn't continue.
Man, I'm such a know-it-all. And let me tell you, that disease only grows when I'm right. After huffing over the loss of keyboard power I sat calmer and more mentally focused than I had been since the dream.
I needed to get back on the fictional kayak, cruising the writing river. It really is odd sometimes how we fight ourselves and our nature. Even when we know something will be good for us we try to do what we think will be easier and less accountable to ourselves.
Well, I must scour the house for a battery so I can continue writing this evening. For now it's housecleaning and mommy time with the kids. (They should be awake by now.)