A Tiny Speck in an Indifferent Universe

Well, I'm back. I was violently, violently ill for about a week (I'll spare you the gory details), and absolutely swamped in work and getting back on track for the following two weeks. Now that I'm back on my feet, I'll be continuing this blog, along with my novel, fairly soon— although perhaps not immediately. This blog's further installments rest on one of two things: my writing more short stories, or my continuing my novel and having interesting things to say about that endeavor. I don't plan to restart work on my novel immediately because, despite the intermission, I still don't know exactly how I should fix the issues I described in my earlier post; thus, my only option is to write a few short stories until I recover from this writer's block. I don't have very many ideas for such a short story, however, so until I do this blog will probably have to remain fallow.

Furthermore, I have recently had a philosophical inspiration, and have entered one…

I can't work on my book right now. I mean, I can, but I would just be spinning my wheels. I have writer's block. I have a sneaking suspicion that I just need to start writing something, and hopefully, I'll get into a groove that'll get me through this. I'm going to cover the story of how I tried to prevent this writer's block, and in the process created it: a classic Greek tragedy of fate.
At first, for roughly a month after I began Children of Abeona, I was on a roll. I netted at least six thousand words a week, and I had a crystal clear picture of what I needed to get done, what the plot would look like, what the world would work like, and what the characters would act like. It was an amazingly productive time. A few weeks into it, I had a moment of realization, drawing on earlier experience, and started writing the background file and plot outline.  What was that ealier experience? Well, let me tell you a story...

The last time I tried to write a novel, I di…