There is one rule for writers that seems to be the same for every famous scribe I’ve researched and that is “if you want to be a good writer, you must write as often as you can”. I suppose this rule can be applied to just about everything though right? And that would be great advice to take if only I could actually write something.

When I first started the fanfic Star Wars: The Force Awakens had only just been unleashed on the world and the thought of creating my very own melodrama from it genuinely excited me. I had fleshed out the plot bit by bit in my head and thought it would be a neat idea to imagine the story of this brand new First Order recruit who had the opportunity of a lifetime unfolding before her. I even thought it would be cool to write parts of the story in a journal as the character developed. The issue now is that I no longer feel as excited as I once did about this character and she is on the verge of meeting one of the main antagonists of the story which should feel exciting to me. But it doesn’t, and every time I try to revisit the story I feel like l really don’t know what I’m doing.

At the same time, I feel like I owe this character the chance to grow within the story and if I was to turn my back on her now, I would regret it.

I literally have dozens of half-written stories that all end up in the same spot, left in writer’s oblivion never to see the light of day again (well, a couple of them were looked at over the years but I’ve only ever completed one out of the dozens I’ve started).

That is really sad, isn’t it? Sad in the sense that I’ve created something that at one point or another I was excited for, only to let it die. And also sad in the sense that I seem to be very good at self-analysing the problem only to do nothing about it.

In other news, I had this really ridiculous dream about Jake Gyllenhaal who was actually a werewolf (although he didn’t look like one) and we were both running from his evil son (also a werewolf) who was trying to kill me for some reason. Jake Gyllenhaal was trying to protect me and somehow (literally out of nowhere) he managed to connect a harness so I could repel down the side of this very tall apartment block that we lived in. There was also a scene with lots of sand where we almost suffocated to death.

I really think my subconscience is trying to tell me something…

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