Running into that nasty writer's block. I've decided that I write angst well, but not action... nor exposition, apparently. How depressing.
In the months since I last posted, I've resigned from my job at Stanford, moved across the country, and taken a new position in Boston. I'm now the lab manager of one of the new fellows at Whitehead Institute. Prestigous, no? Still, it's been a big move for me, especially considering I've lived in California for most of my life. Maybe that's contributing to the writer's block.
Nah.
It's like every time I open up the file to continue the story, something stops my fingers and my mind draws a blank. I can think of exactly how I want the story to progress--I can practically see it in my head--and yet, something stops me from putting it down on paper (or a Word document, to be exact). Maybe I'm too afraid that what I come up with will be stupid or crappy... or heaven forbid, stupid AND crappy. Or maybe not, since I know I'll revise and edit the heck out of the thing before even considering showing it to a beta to proof.
Blah.
In the months since I last posted, I've resigned from my job at Stanford, moved across the country, and taken a new position in Boston. I'm now the lab manager of one of the new fellows at Whitehead Institute. Prestigous, no? Still, it's been a big move for me, especially considering I've lived in California for most of my life. Maybe that's contributing to the writer's block.
Nah.
It's like every time I open up the file to continue the story, something stops my fingers and my mind draws a blank. I can think of exactly how I want the story to progress--I can practically see it in my head--and yet, something stops me from putting it down on paper (or a Word document, to be exact). Maybe I'm too afraid that what I come up with will be stupid or crappy... or heaven forbid, stupid AND crappy. Or maybe not, since I know I'll revise and edit the heck out of the thing before even considering showing it to a beta to proof.
Blah.