This weekend I realized that I suffer from a terrible disorder. It’s very serious, and I wasn’t sure whether to reveal it here or not. But here goes...
I suffer from Only-feel-like-writing-when-I’ve-GOT-to-leave-the-house-in-less-than-an-hour-itis. There. I feel better now that I’ve shared. On Saturday, the whole day stretched ahead of me like an incredibly long stretchy thing. I could have written War and Peace in that time. (Well, not quite, but you get my point, yes? Good.) But did I do any writing at all? Well, yes actually, I did. But only very late that night when I was completely exhausted from all the sitting and lounging and mooching.
And then yesterday morning, I was struck by The Urge. I started writing super-early. I didn’t even let a couple of phone calls distract me. (If you ever call me when I’m writing, pretty much all you’ll get out of me is a ‘Whaaa...? Yeah...er... I can’t think right now. Sorry.’) And the clock was tick-tick-ticking and I had to leave the house in fifteen minutes, but I had so much stuff in my head that I hadn’t managed to get down yet. I was trying to write this tricky scene where I had to replicate the way people talk on TV (and no, I’m not going to tell you which people) and I couldn’t quite get it right. And still the clock ticked on. Finally, with one minute to spare I jotted down some random words at the end of the WIP – words that would hopefully remind me of what I was intending to do with that scene. Alas, looking back at them today I have no idea what the heck I was on about. Hey ho.
Does anyone else suffer from this? Perhaps we could form some kind of support group?
Awesome YA book you really should read: The Giver, by Lois Lowry (which contains one of the most upsetting scenes I’ve read in a long time)