My writing has been creeping along slower than a seasick snail. (Love the alliteration!) It's been a period of staring at the screen and writing and rewriting the same paragraphs over and over and feeling guilty for not progressing on the book. A few days ago I realized that my hero and heroine are confined in a place of utter luxury, unable to go anywhere, and all their needs and wants are fulfilled. It's a stasis where they have no motivation to change or move ahead. In other words, death for the story. In writing this, I see that I have to introduce an element of discomfort and danger to bring about progress so I can finish it ...
And so it goes in our lives. Without some problems, without a sense of "want"(ing) to motivate us, we go nowhere...
