Not so very long ago I was writing the second in a series of middle-grade novels. It was going pretty well, as I remember. But then I got distracted when someone invited me to join textnovel. I set my magical teenagers aside so I could write a romantic mystery. Then I worked on my website and my blog. And then I caught up with some reading, long overdue.
Last weekend I decided it was time to get back to those mysterious teens. And today I finally got round to opening the file. I was pleased to see I'd already written forty out of fifty chapters. How hard could this be? So I greeted my characters with glee, rereading from chapter one and happily pleased to remember the tale. I watched their new school year begin. And then...
And then I realized I hadn't the faintest idea what I'd written. Plotlines that I'd completely forgotten were taking me places I'd no recollection of seeing. It was fun, for sure, and I was thoroughly intrigued with the read till it all came to a halt. And now I'm wondering, where on earth do I go from here?
Don't get me wrong; I do have a plot. Sort of. But it's not the every chapter planned and quartered kind of thing. I know which major events are still to come, but don't know how, and the brain's freezing over. Perhaps a good night's sleep will help, or a leisurely walk round the green. I certainly hope something does because I want to know what happens next. D'you suppose this is writers' block, or just writers' idiocy? I should never have stopped. Or else I should've written a proper plot.