Don't wanna be a cheerleader no more..

I think I've worked out why I've been having so much trouble getting effin' words onto an effin' page recently.

See, I've been looking over what I've written so far and, though I do like pretty much all of it on one level or another, parts of it do feel somewhat.. slight.

To give you some sort of perspective of what I'm talking about, here's a kind of chapter/by/chapter breakdown: Chapter 1 (which I shall post here soon) is short, sharp, and extremely dark and (I've been told) pretty engrossing. Chapter 2 is short, sharp and features our second narrator being awkwardly, drunkenly seduced, and features a truly dreadful sequence about trying to appear less drunk by focusing on a beer tap that I CANNOT WAIT to delete. Chapter 3 (back to the first narrator - I'm fairly sure at this point that I'm just going to alternate between the two) involves a man arriving at a safehouse, looking after his friend's sister and tidying the house. Chapter 4 involves our recently seduced hero and his recent seducer piecing together the night before.

Now, neither chapters 3 or 4 are finished, and 2 needs a good tweaking. And each chapter has its own merit; goddammit, I have to introduce these characters somehow. However, what's been holding me back and, to a certain extent, introducing a form of writer's block, is the thought that what I'm creating is a touch... daft. Frivolous. Throwaway.

Of course, in my head I know that this isn't the case. There's been a GOSHDARN murder (this will become more apparent when I post chapter 1). I know that there are serious scenes to come, but the slightly more light-hearted scenes are draining my faith in the project.

The solution? Skip ahead a scene or two, or three. Next, I'm going to write a couple of very serious but important and hopefully engaging sequences involving grown men talking or progressing the plot. I know what I want to come out of them, and I think it's going to work out pretty well.

If not, I'll get David Mamet to finish the whole thing.

I'm going to put a song at the end of every blog, so here's the confusingly gorgeous Annie Clark aka. St Vincent singing about how she no longer wants to be so frothy and disposable. The rest of the album is similarly brilliant.