Perhaps if I talk about this, it will work itself out. And perhaps, if you're dealing with the same thing, things will work out for you, too.
It's the I-can't-write-this-plot-for-the-life-of-me syndrome. And it's VERY. BAD.
Here's the thing. We have to keep writing, keep going. Right? In those in between places, it's especially important--at least for me--to have something warm on my plate. ("Between" as in "between the other things that are going on". Anything from waiting to hear from crit partners on a recent revision, to waiting for the next sub round with editors, to waiting for anything you can possibly think of. Because at least fifty percent of a writer's life consists of waiting.)
So, in my "between place", I've been working on a YA SF. I've got characters I already like, a setting I'm happy with, and a premise that makes me think, Yeah. This is cool. This could really work. Good stuff, yes?
Alas. I can't plot it to save my life. I've worked it from every angle you can imagine -- raw beat-sheeting, logline, backstory scenes, scenes from the novel, trying to come up with an ending, planning a single chapter--I HAVE DONE IT ALL.
And I still don't have a story.
This has thrust me into a sort of writerly crisis. When I wake up and the day snaps into focus, I remember that I am unable to plot my story, and a sinkhole opens. As in, here we go again. I'll waste my writing time staring, checking Twitter, and typing admonishments to myself.
No, really. Want to see something straight out of my Scrivener notes?
(Okay. I'm bracing myself for a moment of raw transparency.)
Authoress's Notes to Self:
Know what? I don’t know. I don’t have the foggiest idea. I thought this war was about disputed space. Fine. Then what in the world would be so valuable that ISN’T space, that both sides would destroy the other for it? And why would EVELYN have it?
Did Evelyn steal it from someone? If so, who? Kyung-Soon’s friend-who-remains-nameless? The Quantum Corporal? Him?
If so, why did HE have it?
What IS the blasted thing?
In the end, I have no idea. In the end, I suck at plotting. SUCK. I’m great at developing characters and apparently I’ve got great pacing. But plots? No. This is so hard; so incredibly counter-intuitive for me. I don’t know why I ever started writing novels in the first place.
You're allowed to laugh. Or shake your head. Or cluck your tongue at me. But, yeah. This is real; it's where I am.
Well, at least it's where I am with this story. It's just...well, sucking the life from me. All the tried-and-true things....like taking a walk or staying completely away from the story to give it space...haven't worked.
Sometimes it's hard not to despair. Sometimes it's not hard to rethink everything. Like, why am I doing this to myself? I can do other things. There are actually other things in my life that I do. That I'm good at. That bring me pleasure.
But this writing thing? It won't go away. I need to write. I am never so bereft as when I am not in the midst of breathing life into a story.
What's a gal to do?
I don't know. What do you do? Pull out another story? I don't have those; I'm the one-idea-at-a-time type. Quit? I refuse. Take a break? Well, yeah....except when you haven't actually written anything, it's hard to justify a break. What, exactly, is a break from nothing?
So. There is it. Authoress's Science Fiction Crisis. Not even chocolate is helping.
Pouring time and energy into my clients' partials has been a godsend. It's invigorating to inject creative input into someone else's work--hopefully to his benefit. And it keeps my brain from atrophying.
But it's not writing. So the writing part of my brain is weeping.
Do you have an answer? Or are you hanging onto the flotsam along with me? I'm sure we can stay afloat--but I'm not sure when we'll find fresh water.
Please. Fresh water, someone?