After selling (for pennies a word; don't get excited; I'm just a little bee) over 500,000 words, I still have days where I stare at the page and wonder if I know how to write.
I swear to God.
Not how to write well. Just how to write a sentence at all. A chapter? Hah! Yeah, right!
When I first start a novella, the story comes to me in disjointed little snippets, like little sparks firing off here and there.
I write half of them down as quickly as I can forget the other half, and then I look at the mess I've made. I attempt to organize into chapters, and then I attempt to write sentences that tell the story in a smooth flow.
But after two days of sparks igniting only fragments, I step back and wonder if I've lost this thing I thought I had. I wonder if I will ever be able to write again. I wonder if this is it, if this is when I lose it, when I learn that I'm not really a writer.
And then I tell myself to shut up and just write.
Maybe I just can't do story and writing at the same time. Maybe I just need to make a mess and then write.
I spent most of the day reading a book--a whole book!!--, thanks to Mark Terry. He interviewed Tim Macleeny today, and I was intrigued by his female ninja assassin in Stealing the Dragon. I'm a sucker for female ninja assassins. ;-)