Imaginary Friends

What is it about this freezer story that makes it so hard to write? SOMEBODY TELL ME! Is it because I'm trying too hard? (That's what Ammii just suggested.) Is it because I don't know the characters well enough? Is it because there's not a lot of action? Is it the format, writing the whole thing in the form of letters? Is it paranoia? Do I just suck? Is it because I didn't spend enough time outlining? Is it because trying to do nanowrimo psyched me out? Is it because I took a wrong turn somewhere? WHAT'S GOING ON? Maybe I'm just spoiled after having such an easy time on the last book. Or maybe I remember it wrong, and it wasn't that easy. Gah. Any other ideas? Aliens stole my brain?

No idea what to write a blog post about. So I'll just share a bit of my current project, which is taking way too long and may be the hardest thing I've ever written. The hardest to get right, I mean. Oh, it's a glorious, wonderful story in my mind. On paper, so far, it's dark and hopeless and introspective. Getting it where I want it to end will be an adventure. Sometimes I wonder if it's possible. Passages like the one below are what give me hope. (But it's completely out of context, so if it doesn't sound as good to you as it does to me, that's no surprise.) “I know there’s little time left,” Will said, the quality of his voice melting my retort. “There will come a moment when she needs you more than air, when the world is falling apart around her. She’ll need to be able to look into your eyes, hear you say everything will be alright, and have absolute trust that it will be.” The first syllable of a laugh escaped my lungs. “But you just said

Way back at the end of the last millenium, round about the time I was in middle school, my parents had a subscription to America Online. The company is called just AOL now, but back then they were the largest of two or maybe three major online services. (Bonus points if you can name the other two.) At first, they didn't even offer access through their service to the newborn world wide web. They had a self-contained ecosystem with different areas depending on what you wanted. And AOL had chat rooms. Lots of 'em, organized by the topics that were supposed to be discussed there. A room was just a whole bunch of people all talking at once, and got real confusing sometimes. And people said whatever the heck they wanted. Some of them tried to be annoying on purpose. Especially the spammers. Now this is where my story gets a little vague, because I frankly don't remember how we got started spamming. By "we" I mean my older sisters and myself. If you look up the ori

So, Krista sent a draft of a blog post to me and Amy because she talks about us in it. That was nice. Thoughtful. Maybe I'll return the favor. See, I couldn't help but notice that Krista hardly mentioned herself. The post is about writing what you are, and she used me and Amy because we've written books that only we could have written. I mean, I wrote a book combining suicide with unmanned vehicles and photography. In a lot of ways, it was the book I've always wanted to write. When it finally fell together and I came up with a plot, it was exciting. Writing was fun—if also depressing because of the subject matter and my own past. But Krista's right. It's definitely a book that only I could have written. Here's the thing: Krista's novel (nicknamed Steve) is just as unique and personal. It's Frankenstein meets To Kill a Mockingbird and quietly powerful. The voice is wonderful and likable. It's a book that only Krista could write. But...w