My brain is damaged.
Nothing has ever given me so much trouble as A Darkling Plane, and I being to wonder if I'll really ever enjoy writing again. It is so slow-going. It feels vastly unrewarding. I've come to that dreaded page 60, and I fear that it's just a dud.
In fact, at times like this, I hope it's just a stinker - at least that would explain the horrendous difficulty I've had for the last YEAR.
Either the screenplay is damaged - or I am. The struggle to CARE is at times (like this) insurmountable. My mind refuses to enter the story. The moments refuse to play. The characters refuse to speak. Either it is dead, or my mind is broken. Neither seems a pleasant alternative.
I am tired. Inexplicably but inescapably tired. My head is empty. And I feel like I could lay here on the floor, empty-headed, for eternity.