What do you do when the story just isn’t there?
Some days it seems my story exists in a vacuum. Like a black hole kind of vacuum. As in, it’s been sucked into nothingness.
I know I need to write. I know I have committed to write. But I find I have nothing to write about.
Instead of life experiences on which I can draw, all I have are half-made plans that have yet to see the light of day.
I hate to admit that I’m tapped out, because it feels exactly like I’m tapping out of the fight. I give up.
I get it; I need to go live life some more, and then I’ll have more stories to tell.
Which is awesome, and theoretically doable. There’s just the tiny issue of needing a story to write RIGHT NOW.
I could pretend I’ve lived — but people usually see right through that. Something about “writing what you know.”
I could hide. Pretend I wasn’t meant to live, or write, at all. What do you expect of me anyway?
But pretending I don’t need a story doesn’t really get rid of that need for a story.
I guess I just have to be honest.
The story is that I don’t have a story to write at the moment.
But I won’t let it stop me from writing. And that’s a true story.