It’s Not Weird That I Can Write about Not Writing Right?

I often have this overwhelming urge to write something but have nothing I want to write about. This is not one of those times. For as it stands I have an overwhelming urge to write about something and do in fact have something I want to write about. Turns out for some reason I still can’t; and I am instead writing a post (this post) about not being able to write about what it is I want to write about.


A little background and context might help fill in why this is, or (and this seems more likely) at the very least bulk up the word count on this post. I’ve decided what I’m going to write my first book on and oh boy is it going to be overly complicated and convoluted much like the above paragraph. The opening premise is basically that:


Arthur Monroe, 88, bad back and grumpy, falls asleep while fishing on a lake. He wakes to the sound of screaming and discovers he’s alone and lost at sea during a storm. Meanwhile as the storm rages outside her bedroom window 8-year-old Molly wakes in the middle of the night screaming and scared of what’s lurking in the shadows. Something has been stealing children in the dark of night.

Little do they know that before the storm breaks Molly will scream twice more and herald the death of a one time god.

photo.PNGIt’s going to be a kid’s story about coming to terms with death. Cheery I know. It, for the most part is also going to be influenced by Irish mythology. This is something for the past several weeks I have been doing a lot of research on. So far I’ve came to two conclusions. The first is that it is crazy how well it’s going to fit with the story I have planned. The second, my ability to pronounce names and places in Irish is truly shocking. For example did you know that as far as I can tell Tuathmumhain should be pronounced Too-moon? All I can say is thank Dia for The Dictionary of Irish Mythology. The research while fascinating has been at times quite laborious. A lot of the stories I’ve been reading are translated from texts like The Yellow Book Lecan (pronounced Bob for all I know) and The Book of Ballymote (probably just pronounced the way you’d think)which were written in ogham, which is based on old Irish. Sadly this means the prose isn’t always the most gripping or dare I say coherent. I’m going to stick with it though, for what I do reference in my book, characters and otherwise, I want to reference correctly… as long as it’s convenient to the plot of my story. ‘Cause if they don’t fit I have absolutely no qualms about changing them.


Anywho, back to the point of this post and why I can’t start writing my book. I think I’ve built it up in my head too much. So that it has gotten to the point where I’m quite daunted by it and the thought of making a blog entry becomes a convenient way of procrastinating. I know that I just need to sit down and write it, I just can’t seem to bring myself to do it. I think part of the problem is that I don’t have a deadline to have it finished by. I don’t feel any pressure to have it done by a certain time.


Anyway, guess I better get back to it, time to stare at a blank word document some more. Actually shit no it’s not, I need to start getting ready for work.


Ramble over,



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