Watermelon

I think it's time to admit something: sometimes I don't feel like writing. Much of the time that corresponds to sleep patterns being disrupted, Monday on the horizon, or sometimes just feeling like I am totally disconnected from what I should be writing. I think this is the main reason I still haven't become the next Stephenie Meyer- I start feeling things about what I am writing when I should just be writing.

The peril my characters find themselves is as fully developed as they are. They are intrinsically interconnected with all the major plot points. It's a delightful stew of story- no one piece is left hanging, everything blends. My protagonist idolized her grandmother whose death is the catalyst for her to follow in her footsteps. It's great.

The fights are also pretty neat, if I do say so myself. I have worked hard at making sure that when a 140 lb. woman beats up a 180 lb. man that it makes sense for her to be able to do so and in a way that complements (not contradicts) her attributes. Currently, my protagonist is in the midst of her first real super-fight and it's great. I have a ton of ideas for how a (basically) normal person could try to fight someone with superspeed. Best ever.

But now my dilemma: I have lost touch so much with what I'm writing that I don't believe it right now. I feel like I am fruitlessly plugging away at trying to shine a turd which, while demonstrably possible, doesn't increase its overall value to the average consumer. I will never be one of the greats. I will likely never reach the heights that Mrs. Meyer has reached. That frustration is the headpiece on my ceremonial robes of existential crisis. 

Which, getting back to the title for today's post, Watermelon, leads me back to the most productive thing I've done today; eat a medium-sized watermelon. Oh, and complain. Any advice to get me back into the game?