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"Writing
a book is a horrible, exhausting struggle, like a long bout of some
painful illness. One would never undertake such a thing if one were
not driven on by some demon whom one can neither resist nor
understand."
George Orwell
Back in Junior High, I penned the first few chapters of story about a disgruntled NASA employee, frustrated with the bureaucratic and political workings which prevented them from exploring further into the unknown. His brilliance unappreciated and untested, he quit, taking with him his knowledge and expertise.
Here's where it gets fun. 
Determined to do what NASA would not, he built his own spacecraft in his garage, capable of light speed. Out of a Delorean. (Hey! Back to the Future was insanely popular at the time!).
His test run turns into the real thing, and the next thing he knows, he is on a strange planet in who-knows-what distant reaches of the galaxy.
He wakes to find himself staring into hypnotic alien eyes. Cat-like eyes. The creature was feline in nature, but humanoid and bipedal as well. (...guess what was also popular at the time? Thundercats!) Her culture was shamanistic. (Twenty years later, I would find creatures that share a similar lore in EverQuest. They are called the Kerra.)
Her name was Xenkarya. The two eventually fell in love.
For four years, I wrote little stories about Xenkarya. A friend of mine would also include her in stories she was writing. Some concept art for my characters was drawn by a budding artist in high school.
And then I joined the Air Force, got married, got out of the Air Force, had a child... Eighteen years, two kids, and several moves later, I find myself wondering:
Where did I go?
Don't mistake me; I love what I do. Raising my kids, cooking for my family, not working or having to commute (woot!). I can't help but wonder what I will think, twenty years down the road, when I look back on my life. Kids will have moved out. I might even be a grandmother.
Who will I be then? Will I regret not doing something now?
I want to write again.
I don't want to write that story that I wrote in junior high. It's a fun memory, but a ridiculous story. I have something in my mind that I am anxious to work with. Two people. They've been in my mind for ten years, waiting for their stories to be told.
"Books
want to be born: I never make them. They come to me and insist on
being written, and on being such and such."
Samuel Butler
I've written a few times in college and for various writing classes. I've even touched on the lives of these two people. Those were fun exercises.
But now, having made this decision to write, I find myself unable to get started. This last week, since I made the decision to begin writing again, has been a featureless blob. Each day has blended into the next as I have avoided doing anything productive, as I have avoided opening that vein.
"There's nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and open a vein."
Walter Wellesley 'Red' Smith
Why??
Am I afraid of not doing their story justice? Am I afraid I won't get published? Am I afraid I will? Is that even my goal, or do I just want to write this for myself, to get out the story that's been brewing in me, to prove to myself that I can?
"There's
only one person who needs a glass of water oftener than a small child
tucked in for the night, and that's a writer sitting down to write."
Mignon McLaughlin
What if I have been wrong in the image I have held of myself all these years? What if I am not really a writer?
"A writer is somebody for whom writing is more difficult than it is for other people."
Thomas Mann
In looking for quotes about writing, I have found that the way I am feeling is not at all unique. It goes beyond writer's block to some deeper fear, to a stronger emotion.
I only hope that I can get past it.
"The best time for planning a book is while you're doing the dishes."
Agatha Christie
6:29 PM
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