Ever been trying to write something, and just had nothing come? You feel as if thinking of one more word to write is the seventh labor of Herakles.
Yup, that’s how I feel right now. I stare at my screen hopefully and. . .nothing comes. I’ve got characters who are supposed to be having a heartwrenching parting, and they’re just sitting there. In my head I see Gwyn’s eyes imploring me, “Please, O Tale-Weaver, make me do something. Don’t just make me sit here gazing stupidly at my brothers until weeds sprout from my ears.”
And I think, “I wish I could help you, I really do, but I’ve no idea what you or your brothers ought to do.”
“Of course you know. Make us bid each other farewell, and then make me get in the boat and leave.”
“I know that much. But how? Trust me, Gwyn, this author stuff is harder than it looks.”
“Harder than being one of your characters? I don’t think so. I’ve been stuck in limbo for close to two years now and my story is still unfinished. You haven’t even decided if I’m the main character or not.”
“I know. I’m sorry about that. But all I know is that at some point in the scene you say, ‘You can’t come, moi croi.'”
“That’s it? That’s all you have? You’re crazy!”
“I know, I know. I’m trying.”
“Try harder. I refuse to spend the next fifteen years languishing on a forsaken rock in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. In fact, maybe you should stop blogging and get back to the scene!”
He’s probably right. This is probably a symptom of Not-Writing. I should get back to weaving tales.
Christ be with you, Christ within you,
Christ behind you, Christ before you,
Christ in quiet, Christ in danger,
Christ in mouth of friend and stranger,
From the Tale-Weaver.