adventures in awkward

Since I’ve started writing a novel, I feel like my mind is in a constant state of playing everything out. There’s a movie on loop playing in my head. I’m always thinking about what could happen, or what my characters are doing, and I’m pretty sure it’s driving me to the brink of insanity. Which sounds kind of thrilling, but it’s actually pretty terrifying when you can’t concentrate on anything else. It’s starting to seep into my dreams at night, too, and since my novel is a murder mystery/teen sleuth, this isn’t bringing along dreams of playful puppies tumbling down a field of wildflowers and kittens cuddling underneath a Skittles rainbow. My dreams are more in the realm of brutal slayings, the decapitation of pedophiles, and throwing a stabby porcupine at an unsuspecting stranger’s face. Anybody up for some free acupuncture? It’s an intense way to wake up every morning. Which leads me to a question Alex and I discussed at length yesterday:

If the person you love most in this world (spouse/boyfriend/girlfriend/sister/best friend/whatever) killed a pedophile instead of reporting it to police, would you flee the country/hide with them or turn them in? The pedophile wasn’t attacking anyone, or doing anything at the time your person found out so it wasn’t self defense, they were just angry and wanted to end him for being a sick fuck. Are you turning them in because you want nothing to do with it? Or do you love them to the point you are willing to give up your life to protect them and live on the run? I’m curious what your answers are, because Alex and I had opposing ones. Dun dun dun…

Also, how do you not become so consumed by what you’re writing about? Is this normal? I’m assuming this is why most creative artists are the depressive type. Pretty soon I’m going to be shaving my head and chanting around a bonfire in my backyard wearing nothing but nipple tassels and a baby diaper. Okay, probably not, but you see where I’m going.

rambles

Lately I’ve realized the quality of my writing has taken a turn for the worse. Even when I know what I want to say, the words aren’t flowing out at a standard I want them to. My brain feels like its got the worst bout of constipation imaginable. We’re dealing with some really serious blockage here, guys. Adding in some extra fiber won’t do the trick this time around. (Million dollar idea – brain enemas for writers. Someone needs to invent this.) I’m chalking it up to the fact I haven’t been reading much of anything lately and I’m lacking some inspiration. Can you recommend a book to me that you’ve enjoyed or felt inspired by? Have you read a writer that has inspired you so much you’ve been able to get back in touch with your voice?

Rapunzel-with-books

Things I like in a book:
1. High quality writing. (None of this Twilight crap that could have been written by a 16-year-old, okay? PS- I actually kind of enjoyed those books. I just think reading that right now would make my constipation even worse.)
2. I can’t do books that take awhile to get into it. If it’s too slow I’ll give up on it in the first 50 pages.
3. I like any genre as long as it’s written well, but have an affinity for humor. (I’ve read The Bloggess. I have a feeling a lot of people will recommend her books, so I’m just gonna say that now lol)

HELP please!

(Thanks in advance, guys. I hope I can take y’all out for a beer someday or, at the very least, share a pizza with you. Well, just a small slice. Or a bite. Pizza is important to me. Don’t judge.)