Just Write?

As a discovery writer, I've never found myself lost. One step naturally led to the next. I rarely even had to think about it. I wrote for four hours yesterday and, side note, I must be really slow, because my output should have been much greater. But that's beside the point. I honestly didn't know which way to go. My main character has purchased a shuttered motel that requires an almost superhuman effort to revive. While that's a good plotline, I can't pen an entire manuscript based on her solitary renovation work. For the story to come alive, she needed at least one other human to interact with.  

Sometimes I'll try things with the hope that those things will lead to more interesting things. So, now she's running out of money and has to find a job to finance her project. That's where the other human comes in. Which is all great, but now what is the actual story about? It's as if the focus has veered off into parts unknown, leaving the poor little motel as abandoned as it was at the beginning.

Maybe the original premise was just wrong. I was careful to inject lines about her ongoing rehab frustrations, but they came across as afterthoughts, when the rehab was supposed to be the point of it all.  

I approached my writing session with the goal to "just write". If I simply wrote, the destination would eventually become clear. It hasn't. I do have a few ideas; unfortunately, none of them involve the original premise. 

That's not to say the story is all bad. It could be just a slow burn, but at this point it feels more like heartburn. My conundrum is in tying everything together. 

After penning ten books I'm suddenly lost. I've never been lost. I haven't decided if my motivation has died or if I simply chose a bad idea. I suspect it's a bit of both. I've been here before with other passions. I would be engrossed in a specific pursuit for years, until it suddenly ended. It was never a conscious decision; I just didn't feel like doing it anymore. But I always had something new to replace it. Now I have nothing. I can't take up painting, because I don't even know how it would be possible as a left-hander. I guess I'd have to paint from the bottom of the canvas up. It's not that I'm necessarily lacking in artistic talent, if one overlooks the smeariness of the finished product. Writing is all I have.

I'll be looking everywhere to locate my missing motivation.