Alright, so look, I’ve had this kick ass idea for a novel/comic/whatever since I was in junior high. It was originally this character I made up to deal with my internal anger toward the immediate world. Any time I wanted to lash out, I kicked it over to my imaginary superhero who would take out my fury for me. I even managed to plot out a bit of a story line for him. Only I never thought anything would come of it, so I just let him live in the back of my mind.
Flash forward 2008. I read the fantastic book Hero by the late Perry Moore and was immediately filled with faith that if the world was willing to accept Thom Creed, then my character stood a chance.
I started writing in true in late 2009 and, amazingly, I was happy with everything I was producing. It was all going great until I finished writing a pivotal scene, roughly 3/4 of the way through the story I had planned. And that’s when it happened: The Wall.
I slammed into it at full speed, practically crushing my literary skull. Since then, I’m lucky to pump out a paragraph here and there, going weeks or months without even looking at it. Every time I open the document, no matter how excited I am to write, I just can’t force anything out. It was for that reason that I threw myself into NaNoWriMo so hard this past year. I thought putting all of my concentration on something new would open up those clogged passageways when I finally went back to it. And it did, only to a very small degree. I managed to add on an entirely new chapter and realized I could make things more exciting by moving the big action scene, but that’s it.
And I know exactly why I’m so stumped: I just can’t decide what to do with my main character’s parents and that’s a big part of the story. Does the mother disappear? Does she stick around? Do I just send my hero off to live with his boyfriend and simply not address the issue?
No, that’s sloppy. I could never allow myself to do that. I HAVE to find some logical path for these characters to take that justify what I’ve already done. Otherwise I’m no better than those hack writers who have inundated the ebook market with their half-assed “novels.” If I’m going to hold onto hope of being published, it’s going to be for something I can be proud of.
Maybe I just need to start smoking pot and hope for the best. Or just become a lousy drunk. All the best writers were…right?