Several months ago, I finished writing a fantasy novel and was determined to resume and complete The Blessing, a story I began to write more than five years past as Kacy Barnett-Gramckow.
It would be so easy, I was sure. I had all my notes, a good story-line, and lively characters ... yes, this story would flow smoothly.
In almost every paragraph, I stumbled across odd details requiring research not answered in my notes. My characters, lively as they were, had become like strangers to me. Was it because I'd left them tucked in a dark and hidden file for more than five years?
Chapter after chapter, I wrote the story I'd loved and pledged to finish, but each sentence was like a hard-won skirmish, and each chapter seemed an outright war, leaving me dazed and drained. What was wrong?
Two weeks ago, I realized that although the pace of my research hadn't diminished--I'm overly-obsessive about details and I'll be the first to admit it--the story itself was becoming familiar again, and easier. Better yet, I'd remembered the one necessary ingredient I'd forgotten: love.
Yes, I'd fallen in love with my characters all over again. Every sweetheart, stinker, and Person-of-Questionable-Character. In return, my characters began to talk to each other, and to me, sharing their secrets, and opening up new subplots I'd failed to consider years ago. The Blessing has once again become pure joy despite its serious subject matter.
Is your writing dragging? Would you rather stomp outside and kick rocks than face another paragraph? Take a deep breath, calm yourself, and remember love.