Third Confluence IV

Writing rubbish is a type of writer's block, though I don't believe writer's block exists - I think it has more to do with space.  Knowing my novel wasn't going well, I decided to get some space from it.  Last Saturday, I knew there was a huge problem with Part Two so I spent Sunday wandering around some gorgeous botanical gardens and didn't turn on my computer once.  Having to negotiate London't appalling public transport (yes, thanks, tube replacement bus thing) was an extra adventure.  When I returned, I knew exactly how to repair the last seven chapters.  Some serious research and a big fat rewrite.  I sat down and wrote up a page of notes of all the things that were bothering me and then, in my new Pink Pen, wrote a list of key words.  These have turned out to be, well, key.  What I was trying to achieve suddenly became much clearer.  I've already begun and it's hard work but hard work pays off and anyway, the more time I spend with this novel, the happier I am, so I might just as well work hard to make it work.  By the time I'd done my research, I was itching to get back to actual writing.  When I got to that point, I knew I'd had enough space.
I spent two days Googling pictures of castles and trying to design my own for my main characters.  I can't draw to save my life but I drew it anyway, with numbers to indicate which pictures went where.  I was bored shitless with my heroine wandering around vaguely, lost in endless passages.  The action was slowed down to the point of death.  And if the writing is boring, then so is the reading.  Despite battling the most immense bout of depression this week (hello, whiskey bottle) I've made a good start.  Funny how rewriting is always easier than writing.

Bloomsbury writer's tip:
Curing writer's block (or saving yourself from writing rubbish):
Go away.
List key words.
Don't drink.
Rewrite.