I wish the opposite were true.
It’s summer. The sun is shining, the birds are squawking (at ungodly early hours and in the gutter outside my window) and I find that I’m having a hell of a time trying to put words to paper. My problem could be that I adore writing, or that I think on too grand a scale. Even minor characters get full blown character sheets, detailing what makes them tick.
I’m afraid to really jump head long into this one, tentatively called The Continent. The ideas have potential, and the main characters have been making appearances in my writing journals for three or four years now. I want to write it, but I can’t seem to get myself to put much down on paper. There are too many back details and relationships to figure out.