It finally has hit me hard. Writer's Block, the common name for being stuck up a plot with no contrivance, is keeping forward progress in any of my stories from occurring. However there is a small difference - it isn't that I can't write anything, I can't write anything I need to write. In other words, the right story is stuck and others are now pressing their own plot lines individual advantages.
Most days I try to keep two or three characters rolling around in my head for story development. Which is interesting while trying to work a full time job because I must admit sometimes the noise is quite deafening. After completing 'Catalyst' I began two other projects not remotely similar to each other: 'January Frost' a story for my daughter and her friends and 'Nishamora' an adventure novel.
The second in the Guardian Series has a working title as well, 'Piaculum - The Price of Redemption'. So, that makes three main stories in my head with a dozen or so major story arcs. Which makes more personalities in my head than 'All About Eve'! This much inspiration keeps my spare attention span close to zero, which does not make my husband very happy.
Currently my house is in a state somewhere between cluttered and "omg my mother is a closet hoarder!" This does not make me a happy camper. So, with this being the last week of school I have decided no matter how long it takes me I will clean up my house, work my job, be a mom, take care of my horses and still find time to write every day. I never thought I would lose my patience but I sense the end approaching.
My Loving Mother managed to accomplish all those things and much more, so I have the genetic makeup to follow in her footsteps and yet, I feel less than worthy of her apron. Were the truth of things to be told I despise cleaning. Until recent events conspired to overwhelm me my house was neat. Now though the beginnings of clutter are starting to arise.
The dining room table is covered with items that have no immediate home. The trouble always starts with items that have no immediate home. The living room is the object of my Dearest Daughter's possessions: lunchbox, jackets, clothing, blankets, anything she comes through the door carrying end ups on my couch and spills down to the floor and surround grounds.
The steps to the second floor are lined with Helpful Hubby and Dearest Daughter's shoes, soldiers of inattention neglected until searched for in panic when they are needed. The upstairs bannister has become a resting zone for items which need to go downstairs or into the laundry.
The three bedrooms are all in states of stacking up. However, I will give Dearest Daughter props, her room is much neater than any room in the house with the exception of dishes that don't always make it back to the kitchen in a timely fashion. And her laundry sometimes exists in two piles: 'dirty' and 'known only to her'. She obviously has more of her grandmother in her than I do.
My room is the worst, and I think it's because a man lives in there. Actually it is worse because I have always kept the mess out of public view. So the ironing has piled up on the cedar chest from lack of time. I need to take clothes to the thrift box which makes another pile to be cleared out. If I work on the missing sock table and reorder the DVD stack that makes five stacks I could clean out of my bedroom today!
Which brings me back to...
Writer's Block has a friend whose name is "Indecision". So unable to decide which project to tackle first I have made the first step toward planning my last week before school starts.
Let's Go Shopping.