Brick wall - meet my head; it would like to smack itself repeatedly against your hard grainy surface for a while, if you wouldn't mind?
The problem is this; I used to be clever. I used to be able to write at short notice. If I had an essay that I'd left to the last minute eg the day before (as is usually the case) I used to be able to whack one out (an essay that is) the night before, that would still be of a better standard than that of fellow classmates who'd have spent weeks on the thing. This isn't me bragging, this is just stating fact. Now, however, it seems to be a very different story.
I have 2 essays that need to be handed in tomorrow - not first drafts, not second drafts; the final things. One has to be a short story or extract from a short story equally 1500-1700 words, based on or inspired by the story or style of another authors book. The second is an accompanying 750-800 analysis of said short story, discussing why I have used the style I have, what inspired this what inspired this and so on.
Now, the short story I wrote months ago. Last year, I think it was. Before I'd finished the last essay for this subject. The only problem was that it was 3000 words; twice as long as it needs to be. I therefore had about 2 months to choose the best parts of the story and write an analysis on it. The problem now is part of my bigger problem.
A) I have read no book that could possibly have inspired this tale, and cannot find, buy and read one in 5 minutes. B) I physically cannot write anything. I had decided a better plan at this short notice would be to just write a new story based on a book I know better and an analysis off the back of that, but now I cannot find a book I feel I know well enough, and the three books I've found to 'choose from' are yeilding no inspiration whatsoever.
This is my future here. My AS English Language level is literally being washed down the drain before my very eyes, and I feel utterly powerless to stop it. I didn't think it would ever come to this. Complete and utter writers block that I really am scared I won't be able to get past. I'm failing, and it scares me. This is what I love isnt it? Writing? Where did the optimism of yesterday go? Confronted with the actual necessity to write something, I freeze. I am frozen in a state of mind where nothing is possible, and everything is falling away.
This is not me. At least, it shouldn't be.
I guess I'm not as strong as I thought I was.