it's not adhd

it might just be that i'm not ready to write a novel. my attention span is insufficient.

the writing has been stagnant the last several days and i fear my interest in the story is waning. last night, after watching the movie, i was thinking about the novel but the ideas weren't coming. i kept having to force my thoughts back to it, and i didn't like that. i'm going to take a break from it. an hour ago i started writing a new short story, with a new character.

i'm still thinking about national novel writing month and wanting to write something new for that. it has been pointed out to me that it would be against the rules to work on an existing project for nanowrimo. the point is to write something entirely new, from scratch, soup to nuts, in the 30 days. it's not that this rule in itself would stop me from using the month as i choose, but the current wave of apathy about the foibles and crimes of shannon et al is pushing me away.

so this is the new plan. i'll write a short story this month and one next month, in the neighborhood of 10,000 words each. the month after that is november and i'll do the 50,000-word thing. and that is that.

i feel bad about abandoning the old crew. partially for them and their story not being told and partially because i just feel lame for quitting. quitter. loser. wastrel. ne'er-do-well. will i never finish anything? but it's not as if i'm abandoning writing altogether. au contraire. as i say, i've already started something else. i don't know what it is yet, but i've got words on paper and i don't already hate them.

also, it's not as if i'm deleting the document in which shannon, dallas, and helen live. they'll be there, in suspended animation, waiting for my return. perhaps, one day, many years from now (or sooner), i will return.

this is me being disappointed in myself. and yet, at the same time, not so much.