As I sit here in my basement, cold and hungry, four empty mugs sitting on the desk beside me, it occurs to me that I’m doing just about everything I can to not write any more of The Redemption of Erâth: Ancients and Death. I tinkered with this website all morning (do you like it?), updated my status on Facebook and Twitter a bit, watched some of Alexandra Corinth’s book videos (well-worth the watch, by the way), and twiddled my thumbs.
It seems I’m stalling.
I feel depressed about the whole thing (outside of my usual depression). I don’t like where I’m going with the book, which is unfortunate because it all started so promising. Elven was on his own, there were some very disturbing deaths, and he came to a new kingdom and became a part of the country there. I enjoyed the writing, and enjoyed the story. Elỳn’s magic came to the front, and was spectacular.
Then I returned to Brandyé. He woke up alone in a forest far removed from where we last saw him (both in time and place). Slowly he becomes aware of a world far more magical and advanced than the one he (barely) remembers. It should be awe-inspiring, but it just … isn’t. He comes to a city of glass and steel, spires that tower over all the world, and I have him engage for an entire chapter in dull and directionless conversation. I feel like I’m forgetting why Brandyé came to this place at all (if I ever knew in the first place).
I know I have to power through it; I have to write, whether I feel like it or not. That’s one of the reasons I’m writing this update (at least it’s writing, of a kind). I have a minimum of 4,000 more words to write for chapter nine, and 6,000 for chapter ten. I’m struggling to think of what’s going to even take place in these chapters.
I have it all worked out for Elven, when we return to him in chapter eleven. I think that when we revisit Brandyé again in chapter sixteen things will be different. But chapters six through ten are slow, and I’m finding them dreadfully boring. That isn’t a good sign as a writer. I know perfectly well my own mantra—you can edit crap, but you can’t edit nothing—but I feel that once editing time comes around there’ll be nothing left to work with. I just don’t know what purpose it all serves.
Have you ever come to a point like this in your writing—where you feel you’re plowing through nothingness for the sake of getting to the next chapter? Tell me I’m not alone …