Finding the motivation?

I haven't written a word on the novel in a week or so now.

I don't know why. The material still excites me. I think what I've done so far is pretty good and the idea is a very good one that will resonate with a significant audience.

It's just the sitting down and banging away on it that's the issue. I don't know why. I guess some of it may have something to do with the hell I'm about to put my protagonist through--I'm coming up on the part where she takes a major step towards losing her innocence. I find this a bit upsetting.

Which is stupid, I know, getting all that worked up about the emotional trauma of someone who doesn't even exist. But she's real to me and that makes it difficult.

Oh, well. I'll get over it. I'll write this thing, and I think, because I cringe when I think about what I'm about to do, I'll overcompensate and make it a lot more discomforting than it probably should be for the reader. Which is a good thing, actually, as it's much easier to go in later and back something down than it is to go in and amp something up.

I hope the above makes sense. I haven't been sleeping very well. I've been dozing off on the couch almost every night but I'm wide awake when I go to bed. This really sucks.

At least I've been able to paint. Not that my paintings are all that good, but the simple act of painting is so much fun it almost doesn't matter. It reminds me of when I did that stuff when I was a kid, and it reminds me why kids love art---because, over and above all the noble ambitions you might assign to someone's work, the simple fact is painting, sculpting, drawing, etc., is fun.

Oh, you are watching Hannibal on NBC, right? Thursday nights, 10 p.m. Eastern Time. If not, you should be. It is quite extraordinary.  The last episode was almost too intense.

So, I'm gonna get off my ass and get busy writing this thing. Tomorrow. Dammit.