Wow, another novel has fallen flat. I've never had so much trouble getting a new book started! I keep running into plot problems that point to fatal flaws in the overall story. Some of these are understandable--one of the novels I tried to resurrect was over eight years old. Back then, I didn't even know what a gerund was (it's some kind of garden gnome, right?). But there's no excuse for the others. All total, I've lost four books in four weeks. Perhaps my writer's block isn't so much a block as it is a leaky brick wall. Some stuff is getting out, but not nearly enough. I've thought about quitting for awhile to "fill up the well" again, but I feel strange when I don't write. It's like that sensation you get when coming down with a fever--you just can't get comfortable.
I've been experimenting around with a different method of plotting, so I may have luck with the next book. It's going to be my third attempt at sci-fi. I've reasoned that if nothing is happening here on Earth, I might as well try blasting off into space.
