It always happens right around this time.
I start off with an idea and it’s like I’m writing to keep my family alive. I don’t even want to breathe I’m so afraid of losing the scenes, the pictures in my head. It just all comes spilling out. It’s like I’m stranded in the desert and the words are water, and the more I write, the less thirsty I will be.
I slow down after the first couple of thousand. I think. I write. I think. I write. But I don’t mind because this is what writers do. Yes? At least that’s what I think they do anyway. It goes on like this for a sweet little while and I think, “This is it! The idea is great! I can do it! Yay, I’m a writer! I will be published!” But then, as I approach 5-6,000 words…
It all dries up. Poof, it’s all gone. No momentum. No excitement. No idea what I’m doing.
This is when I start wandering in the heat. This time, though, there are no words to fill me up, and I start to get really panicked and depressed, and suddenly I look like Chevy Chase in Vacation and I’m stumbling along with a pair of pants on my head, yelling, “Taxi! Taxi!” at tumbleweeds.
What is it about this number of words that curses me?