Writer's Drought - pfft... I hate pfft.

I hate when this happens.  I'll be going great guns with something and then... It all dries up.

Suddenly, I don't want to write because I don't like what I'm writing. Like yesterday afternoon and evening. With what I have written in 'Laurentina's Lessons', I reached a point where I didn't know where to go next to get to where I want to be. I didn't like what I had written - it was flat and boring. Like the Dolrums with no wind, but no heat, either.

I knew it would pass. It does and it just means that I have to be patient and not get wrapped up in worry, but it's hard, worrisome because, as with everything written by anyone, I've invested a lot in this and, suddenly... pfft. Nothing.

Perhaps it's what others call 'writer's block'. I don't know. I have ideas, there was just nothing that was exciting or enticing, nothing that led me on. Not only did I not want to work on what I've recently done, I also didn't want to work on anything else.

'Matters of Friendship' was going well, major edit but not a major re-write, but... pfft.

In book two of my Thoroughgoing Bastard series, 'Laurentina's Lessons', all is well and good for the first 150 pages or so, but then it gets weak and was getting weaker. There was no spark - no 'yeah, this is good stuff!'  Just pfft.

I hate pfft. It's depressing.

Mulling it over last night I had no answers. This morning, though - overnight perhaps, I had an epiphany.  I know exactly where the turning point is. It's about 100 pages ago, which means that 100 pages is pretty much going to go pfft.  I hate pfft but in this case it's for the wasted effort.

But, most honestly, it is all about me at this point. If I don't like it, if I don't believe that 'yeah, this is really good stuff!' I'm not about to release it into the wild, so I had better like it. A lot. And I don't. Not right now. But I will.

And that doesn't necessarily mean I can't use some of what I have. There's a great 'fight' scene that came out well:

* * * * *

For several long minutes Lacy sat there. She had not really thought her ploy would work and now that it had, how was she going to tell Willis? And what if the rest of it worked? What if she was able to convince Jacobsen? Then she would be obligated to Marcel.

Never go back on your word, Lacielle. Laurentina’s soft voice came out of nowhere, no one trusts a liar. No one trusts anyone who reneges on a pledge. It is a matter of honor and, as with everything else, a woman is judged far more harshly than a man in such matters. Once she is found to have lied, everything she says is questioned.

Lacy leaned forward, her head in her hands, feeling as if she was going to throw up. I don’t know whether to hope I can solve this or not.

It was worse than Lacy expected. She waited until they were relaxing in the Jacuzzi after dinner before she told Willis most of her conversation with Marcel.

“I don’t want him here!” Willis roared as he threw himself out of the tub.

Lacy followed, storming after him through the house, leaving a trail of water that matched his, “It is only so we can get what we need! I cannot convince Jack that I am who I am without an official document. A copy won’t do it because it is too easily made. Marcel has that document. We don’t know that Stan’s friend is going to be able to get one for us and the longer we wait the more firm Jack’s opinion will become. If we wait until Friday or next week, it may be immovable!”

“I … don’t … care!” Willis was white faced with fury when he whirled to face her, and Lacy didn’t understand.

What was wrong with him? He had suggested that she have group sex with his friends, and it hadn’t bothered him. Now, she was willing to give herself to one man, to prostitute herself in exchange for something that would help him, and he was like this?

“I don’t understand you!” She raged.

“There is nothing to understand!”

She took a deep breath. Yelling at him is not going to change his mind. He is too angry for reason or seduction. “I am not willing to do this because I want to. I am doing it for you, because my father did this to you, as he did it to Henri.”

Willis turned away, the tension across his shoulders almost painful to see.

She stepped closer, “Why won’t you let me help you?”

“No,” his voice was muffled, “not this way, Lacy. Not like this.”

“Why not?”

His expression, when he turned to face her, was tormented, the pain in his eyes palpable, his voice ragged, “Because you’re not a whore.”

It’s his past. She knew it with a sharp jolt. It has to do with his mother and, perhaps, his father.

“No, I am not a whore.” She spoke softly, gently and stepped closer to him, putting every bit of sincerity into her words and voice that she could. “I am a woman in love with a man for whom I will die if it will save him. Even if it means sleeping with another man to get the device that will save the man I love, I will do that.”

* * * * *

Now that, in my opinion, is good stuff, so I won't waste it. I even know how I'll redirect that, strengthen it (because, out of context as it is, it's not that exciting, but it should be). Probably two days of hard work and then it'll be back on a different track, heading toward the same destination.

'Lothario' on the other hand... I am pleased as can be with that. I love it, and I've had two beta readers - people who didn't even know I existed before a couple of months ago - rave about it. I've gotten really solid remarks from people on Authonomy, too, so I'm confident it's a good, strong story. I just have to make sure its younger sibling(s) rise to the same level. Which is part of the struggle.

So - check out 'Lothario & The New Girl' here: https://www.authonomy.com/book/295117/Follow me on Twitter: https://twitter.com/PhilippaStories

Have a lovely week!  With NO pfft!!

Best~
Philippa