Brains are frustrating things. One thing can gum up the works, and if you’re not familiar with brains — passingly, no degrees necessary — and more specifically with yours, it can be hard to figure out why. Even when you are familiar with your own brain, they’re like cats. When they’re hurting, they hide it.
I’ve had creative paralysis for some time. Some of it has been burnout (turns out I can’t do treadmill writing — working in the same series to a strict schedule). Some of it is stress (this month has already taken a year). Some of it is obligation (in this case, editing the next book in Broadsides).
All of the above had their impacts. Lately the largest culprit has been the last. Because my coauthor and I made the decision to have a break from Broadsides after this book, to reorient our needs and our capabilities — and a ‘break’, in this instance, just means we’re going to focus on other things for the next three months — there’s a part of my brain which has labelled all other writing as having to come after the next book is done and dusted.
That was at the end of October.
I’m barely into editing it. The final chapter isn’t even quite finished. (Sometimes going back and editing a whole novel helps gather enough momentum to finish those final pieces which seem so difficult to do from a standstill.) I don’t consider this writer’s block, because I don’t subscribe to writer’s block as a concept. There is always a reason for not writing. Always. And it is always within your control, one way or another.
In this case, it was the obligation which was gumming up the works. My coauthor calls it queuestacking (which I understand is from Homestuck, though I never engaged in it myself). It’s the act where the brain has filed actions in a certain order and one thing must be done before another. Of course, usually, the thing that has to be done first is an obligation, and the second thing something fun.
The fact that Broadsides has become something of an obligation is a bad sign, hence our decision to finish where we were at. But because I was denying myself writing fun, I was making myself panic and finding myself incapable of finishing the things that were in the home stretch. I had, somewhere along the way, traded my creative voice for my critical voice, without noticing — hence the creative paralysis.
Before yesterday, I hadn’t really written for weeks. Scraping out chapters of Broadsides, at best. It was miserable. To be proud of writing two days in a row feels like such a long fall from where I was: but here I am. I won’t wait until I’m Done With Obligations before I keep writing for pleasure.
I’m not quite out of the woods. I do have a responsibility toward my coauthor to get the bulk of this done before a specific time. I’m still aiming for another book release this year. I need to look for another job. And I’m unexpectedly having to contend with Emotions surrounding NaNo and/or not doing it. So, I’m still at risk of creative paralysis, which is the for my panic usually takes, and I’ve gotten into some bad habits about talking myself out of writing when I might have otherwise.
But at least I’ve IDed the sucker now. It’s going to be painful for a little while, but I can still take a breath and keep moving, step by step by step.
Aurichalcum Publishing 