I strove for a long long time to organize my writing. Work on figuring out plots, sub-plots, twists, turns, and gems. It was not easy… but I feel I more or less finally accomplished it. I don’t know if it was the steps I took.. the job I was in, or the tools at my disposal…
I can’t write. The outlining leaves the content dull and lifeless. The process is no longer organic. It’s like my brain rebels violently at being lead down a narrow path.
Don’t get me wrong. My writing wasn’t anything amazing to begin with. I’m rarely clever and sorely confounding. When you write in figure eights – you need to have something to keep you on track.
The truth of it is though… I wrote more on the fly, than I ever have under a strict plan.
I suppose it could be where I am in my life. I actually have things I’m looking forward to. I have a dream and path that leads to it. My trek to the mountains is finally rising to it’s climax… I don’t want to write any less… but I don’t need to write. It’s not bursting from me like tidewaters any more.
I’ll have to be content with the trickle for now.