I'm Paralysed

I'm totally and utterly overwhelmed by my book. I cannot write a single sentence. A few weeks ago I thought I'd had a break through with my 'Stage' fright. The problem I have, as I am sure many if not every writer has had before me is that I know exactly what I want to say and how. I just have no idea how to begin. I have a basic outline. It needs more research and decisions but the plot is there. I can start scribbling. And I have. But tonight for the first time in weeks the urge to write was incredibly strong so I sat down with my note pad. And. Stared. Blankly. I re read everything I've written so far. Nothing. I haven't started at the beginning. I've started with an idea because I couldn't work out how to start at the beginning. But now I don't know where to take the idea but the only way I shall find that is through scribbling through the characters eyes. It's the way I started. But as soon as I lift my pen to the paper my brain clicks in and starts to whirl and I am overwhelmed. Not by story ideas, I need desperately to start writing in order to find the characters voices and through them their world in order to flesh the story out. Instead I am overwhelmed by thoughts of how I wish it to be written, what I wish to say ultimately, etc etc. And then I cannot write a word. And I read back what I have written, which I know I wrote without structure in order to get my brain thinking and the ball rolling and I criticise all of it and question my abilities and take all the fun out of it so that I rebel and turn here. Or Twitter. At the rate I am not even writing, this book may be finished when I am eighty years old. So much for it being my ticket to wealth...

In other news:

RUN Forest RUN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! And CYCLE and KAYAK!!! All yelled this morning from the comfort of my bed whilst I ate Cadburys Dairy Milk and surfed the internet. One of the greatest things about living in a different country to your boyfriend is that when he has a mad cap idea like doing a Triathalon on a cold Sunday morning in December you don't have to get up a the crack of dawn and stand in the cold cheering him on because you are 500 miles away. In bed. Under the Duvet. But seriously babe, good luck. Wish I was there. Hummm mmm. Sorry. Something in my throat. Okay, well, tell me how it went.

It went well with hardly any training. Well, unless you can consider lifting shot glasses to the mouth on a Friday, Saturday, Sunday night as weight training...he did do a bit of running training. Just under four hours. The boy could run a marathon probably after a mammoth drinking session. Meanwhile I'm struggling with pretend Ice skating...

Talking of pretend Ice skating, this week at school I will be mostly, paper, elastic, rubber...