Sitting, waiting, wishing (also known as: not writing)

I’m sitting here, at the dining room table, waiting for inspiration to strike me. Wishing I could muster up the willpower to plunge ahead in the world of words. Every writer has his own process, mine has much to do with this title.

Sit behind computer/notebook/phone, wait for inner editor to shut up (because she is yelling that this story is too complicated for me to put on paper), wishing writing felt more easy.

The thing is, I love to write. To lose myself in a story, surprise myself with strange twists and cunning characters, but I also find it the hardest thing to do. Maybe because I’m a perfectionist. Maybe because I’m lazy. Maybe because I’m scared the story won’t come out the way it’s intended. Maybe because all of the above. For me writing never gets easier, not really.

But since I’ve already typed over a hundred words, I might as well go ahead and write a new scene. My character is going to set something on fire and while she’s gathering highly flammable materials to set alight, she’s going to describe her favorite moment of all moments.

The second after striking a match.