I think writing this book is slowly driving me mad. Or maybe it’s the spiders.
One of the few downsides to living on top of mountain seems to be the never-ending conga line of spiders that like to drop in at the most inconvenient times. For instance, the other day I had finally (finally, finally!) figured out what to write for a chapter that has been sitting blank for months now. I had it. I could picture what the character was doing. He was ready to let me get him on the page. All I needed to do was get to the nearest pad of paper or laptop.
Then I glanced down and Gigantor, the mountain spider, scrabbled across the floor. As spiders as big as my thumb tend to do, he wiped any thought from my mind except for the obsessive one to catch him before he decided to make himself at home. I grabbed my handy spider trapping mug, dropped it over him, and then realized my perfect chapter had left the building. Every thought, every word, every moment of the scene was gone. I was mentally left staring at a blank page once again. (Later, I tried to recapture it. It currently sits, mocking me in my failure.)
I almost squished Gigantor out of spite. He’s lucky I’m a pacifist when it comes to introducing bugs to shoes. I used to be scared of spiders. Now I yell at them in annoyance. I’m not sure if this is an improvement or not. Either way, they are effectively clubbing my inspiration and it is going to drive me mad.