I’m sorry I haven’t posted anything for-what? A fortnight? I didn’t have any news, good or bad. I’m still not writing. I don’t know what the hell’s happened to me. Ever since Microhorror finished, I haven’t known what to write or who for. I kept trying to come up with an idea for a horror stage play, but that became like chasing a mirage.
I was happily churning out horror flash fiction. I completed the story almost as soon as I got the idea. Perhaps my current block I God’s punishment: because I didn’t give the ideas He sent me the care they deserved. Or maybe it’s simply a case of keeping the motor running. You can often get ideas for stories whilst you’re engaged in writing a story (I do). When you stop to think, the ideas dry up.
This week, I read two stories to my writing group. They were both at least a year old and, frankly, I didn’t care all that much about them. But it was my turn, my week, and I felt compelled to bring in something. I did that last term, as well.
The group listened, and gave constructive criticism; but as I sat there, I knew that I didn’t want to do anything with them. I felt like I’d wasted everybody’s time. I hadn’t reread them since I wrote them. The characters seemed like cardboard. The group were kinder on me than I was on myself.
Christmas is nearly here, and the new year, and I feel like I haven’t really done anything. A couple my wife and I are friendly with are moving house. The two of us have talked about moving, wished we were living somewhere else, but this couple have actually done it; and though I wish the couple well, I can’t help feeling a little jealous. We merely seem to lurch from one crisis to the next.