You know, there's this little monster that threatens to crush the hopes and dreams of every writer. It's name is writer's block. I haven't had it for more than a couple minutes at a time for as long as I could remember. Sure, I've written myself into corners, where the characters and story have no where interesting or worthwhile to do or go from where they are, that's not writer's block, that's just a major screw up. Normally it involves cutting about 20 pages and being forced to re-imagine that segment of story. That doesn't happen much either, but it does happen.
What happened to me the other day was what felt like the onset of full on writer's block. I was suddenly over come with whatdoIdo? wheredoIgo? Ican'tdothis! WhodoIthinkIam? JossWhedonorsomething? As I was fighting the panic, I said to myself; thaaaat's right! I'm Joss Whedon! What do I, Joss Whedon, do? I call creative partners, talk to my family, and speak with friends. I Go out into the world a little if I have to. So I called the people I always do when I look for guidance and comfort, my parents! I didn't talk to them about writing, just everything else, and like some kind of mamma's boy fanboy kismet when I hung up that phone my mp3 playlist had rolled on over to the Serenity soundtrack and there it was. The next three books in the First Light series had suddenly popped into my head, and I could see the last big damn scene running through the mad movie house that is my brain.
Thanks for the assist Mom, Dad, and Joss Whedon. No wonder he's a big damn star. I think I'll go buy another copy of Serenity but first, I'll finish the second draft of First Light Act 2 and maybe even come up with a permanent name for it.
R
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