Yesterday, i didn’t go into the office at all, but instead stayed home and spent the day working on More than Two, the book on polyamory I’m writing. An entire afternoon of sitting and staring at a blinking cursor, and I end up with three pages to show for it. I’m up to fifty pages total so far; at this rate, it’s going to take another year to finish this draft!
I actually have an editor now, who is not (bless her heart) pestering me for material in the slightest, but still. I can’t figure out why it’s turning into such a struggle. I write every day, on LiveJournal and newsgroups and mailing lists and whatnot; hell, i can sit down to respond to something in a newsgroup and end up writing two thousand words without even blinking. But a book? Every word is an ordeal. And it’s ot like I don’t know what to say; I know exactly what I want to say. It’s just proving to be remarkably difficult to say it.
And this morning, while I was stepping out of the shower, the cat caught and ate a bug. Eww!