Why Writer's Block May Be a Good Thing

I've been working on a paranormal YA fantasy novel for about a year now. That doesn't exactly mean much, per se--I'm the type of writer who has multiple projects in the works at any one time and plays leapfrog.

But between working on revising a project that's been over five years in the works and writing this first draft, I've noticed something. Something that holds true regardless of the project I apply it to.

Writer's block is a good thing.

Maybe it's just that I've grown as a writer to get to this point, but I doubt it. You see, writer's block--for me, at any rate--means something's wrong. I've started going back and reviewing the last (few) scenes when writer's block starts popping up.

Sometimes I'm trying to have the wrong thing happen, sometimes somebody's acting out of character, sometimes I need to do some research before I decide what to do from here, and sometimes a scene's in the wrong place.

I have one friend reading this particular WiP and playing beta. She's told me that every time I rewind a bit upon getting stuck, the result is better, stronger, more poignant. (Okay, so maybe she didn't use those exact words, but that was her gist.)

So what of you, readers? Does this rule apply to you? Does writer's block mean something's wrong?

On Character Epiphanies

I write by twisting my emotions and mindset to become my character, much like an actor prepping to play a role. The end effect is difficult to describe to anyone who doesn't do this without sounding like I should be committed, but sometimes it feels like I'm having a conversation with one of my characters.

This recently happened with a character in a novel I'm working on. I started off with her as the human daughter of a powerful werewolf--like Adam Hauptman's daughter Jesse in Patricia Briggs' Moon Called series--but details kept popping up that made me feel like the character, if she met me, would be hiding a smile at my expense.

She finally came out and 'told' me: "I actually can't be human, you know. My mother was a sink. Sinks can't bear mundane children to term."

Me: Huh??? (But, upon reflection, I realize that's what fits the story best.)

Her: "That means my little brother isn't human, either."

Me: What little brother?

Her: The one currently in hiding with my mother so none of the powerful werewolves visiting realize they're sinks and kill 'em.

Me: ...That means you're a werewolf, doesn't it?

Her: Yep.

Me: Your friend [the narrator, who's been brutalized by werewolves] is gonna freak when she finds out.

Her: ...

Me: What?

Her: You know, me being a werewolf means I'm my dad's heir, too. Which means I'll be his executioner after my birthday that everyone's coming to celebrate.

Me: O.O

Her: Sorry.

Me: I liked you.

What's My Excuse, This Time?

Um… *blushes* I forgot.

I'm terribly sorry, but after my surgeon poisoned me, I seriously forgot that this blog wasn't on haitus. As nonsensical as that is, and downright sad, it's true.

You know that pain med I was on when I wrote the previous post? It was something I'd specifically told the doctor—repeatedly!—that I'm allergic to. Not only that, but a nurse I know says she was the one he happened to hand the perscription to after he wrote it, and she handed it back to him saying point-blank that I was allergic and he'd have to change it!

The med? Lortab.

The reason I'm allergic? It's a hydrocodone/acetametaphin combo. (Acetametaphin is Tylenol.) Most people who react to Lortab can't have hydrocodone or morphine.

Me? I react to the Tylenol. Of course. *rolls eyes*

Fortunately, it doesn't kill me. Nope, just causes pain, among other details.

That made surgery recovery "fun" for the first day after I'd accidentally taken a dose of the Lortab, lemme tell ya.