I am stuck. I am at an impasse. I am one side of a crevasse and I can neither jump nor fall.
With so much to write that I'm writing in my head as I fall asleep and I'm writing in my head when I'm swimming and I'm writing in my head when I'm working. All of this and yet I can't seem to get the actual thing I want to write, finished.
Why is this?
Why should there be words and words and words and none that fall into the right order, in the right way and at the right time?
I have been distracted, it's true, by what some people call life events and what I call horrible, shitty things that happen for no reason and make me very angry. I have also made the mistake of immersing myself in the work of a writer who is and always will be far superior to me - a week solid of reading Wolf Hall, followed straight away by Bring Up the Bodies, has almost convinced me that there is little point even attempting to finish my book.
With writing around of that standard, how the hell will I ever make an impact? And then I remembered Twilight and thought there's hope for me yet.
Inspiration strikes multiple times a day. Motivation doesn't.
By the way, I just looked at the most common search terms that bring people to this blog. One of them was "goth wet tits". So that's nice.