|this pretty much sums it up|
I used to tell myself that I would write a book..."if I only had the time."
Turns out, time wasn't the problem. I set out to spend about 30 minutes a day with my book. Either writing or brainstorming or what-not. As long as I was squeezing in the QT, knowing there would be good and bad days both, I figured I would jam out a draft before the end of the year.
Then, 60,000 words later, it hit me. The problem isn't time. It's plot. My book is going nowhere. The writing is there (even my little sister said its "good", which coming from her might as well have been a Pulitzer). The time is there. The desire is there.
The plot, however, didn't show up for the party. Maybe I forgot to send an invitation? I can't summarize my book ("what's your book about?" me: "oh, you know, this and that...") and so far as I can tell, its going nowhere.
I should have set out to write a short story. A collection of short stories even. Every time I try to squeeze all these individual pieces into a cohesive storyline, it just falls apart. Then it occurred to me...
I'm going to have to start over.
And that, my dear friends, is where I'm at. I've been struck by the paralysis of knowing that I need to frog the whole book and start over. But, if I don't move on, I will never write a book.
There's a fine line between giving up on a book once it gets tough and recognizing when its time to throw in the towel and go with another idea. I just hope I'm making the right decision.