I don’t know why I’m attempting a caffeine detox. It’s not even as though I have that much of a habit–up until about a year ago I limited myself to two 20-oz bottles of Mountain Dew or similar a week, a restriction which has slid a bit to up to 24oz per day thanks to a day!job that demands I be more alert than I always want to be. But still, I don’t drink coffee, and a soda or two a day isn’t the end of the world, isn’t it?
Besides, aren’t novels written on a foundation of substance abuse and emotional instability? Seems like I am doing things right, if I have a caffeine problem, since I don’t smoke or drink.
Buuut, all of that’s whatever, and I have decided to go a couple of days without my already modest feedline, let it flush out of my system and start fresh, and fuck you just don’t come near me. I will bite your face in half. I will chain you to a dump truck and force you to eat your own babies.
Okay, it’s not as bad as all that. (But seriously, it is.) I’m more preoccupied with why I’m bothering to do it.
I don’t really have an answer for that. That thought is complete.
So here’s a writing thing instead: I am on a plotting vs. pantsing sliding scale. Some books want to be outlined, others are happy to be written as we go along. The current book is the former, with a lovely 14-page outline floating along, and I have found that a helpful game, when I am feeling blocked and overwhelmed by the task of letting this monster out, is to go through the outline and write just a single sentence of copy at each outline point. Just a sentence. No pressure, nothing too intimidating. (Frequently, more than once sentence comes out, but that’s not required.) And those little nudges will become seeds for chapters later; when it’s time to really sit down and write that part, way-hey! it’s already started. Piece of cake.