Tag Archives: writer’s block

So I had, like, no ideas. And then all of the sudden I had one.

My inner dialogue has gone something like this:

Okay, let’s write something.
What should I write?
A western would be good.  I’ll do that.
Note to self: cannot write exclusively on one project.
How about fantasy?
I’ve never read a fantasy book.
How about young adult?
Or a flash fiction challenge?
OR ANYTHING?
Why is it so damn hard to come up with stuff lately?
Maybe I should write first thing in the morning.
…What is morning, anyway?
I’m obviously in a rut.
Write or die.
Write anyway.
JUST DO IT.
Now, what to do…

Yeah.  You get the picture.  I’d call it writer’s block but I know it’s because I’m going through some huge transitions in life at this point, some expected and some completely-out-of-nowhere-holy-shit-what-do-I-do-now?! unexpected.  I sit down to write and it’s like there’s this little black hole of worry sitting somewhere above my left ear sucking all of the creativity I possess into dimensions unknown.

So I had this idea, right?  I figure, I feel like my writing is just too weak.  No matter how I try to flex my writing muscle, it never seems to gain any strength.  I sit down to write and even if I felt a burst of energy not so long ago, most of the time I sit staring at the computer screen feeling completely impotent.

My idea is this: take shit that’s already been created and is awesome and rewrite it.  Give proper credit, of course.  I’m not out to plagiarize or anything.  That’s lame.  But I gotta write something. Anything.  Even if it’s not original.

Wish me luck.

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Writer’s Block: Write or Die

It doesn’t exist.  I have to tell myself, over and over again, writer’s block does not exist.

You can’t touch it, or feel it, or wrap your fingers around it.

It’s not some kind of chemical imbalance that can be measured, monitored, and medicated.

There is no word troll sitting in my right brain eating all the words.

To sum up: there is no goddam excuse for my nearly non-existent word count lately.  None.  I sit here and beat myself up because my dialogue is weak and my prose is too sparse and I can’t seem to give anything I write momentum.

But rule numero uno in writing is, was, and always will be this: WRITE OR DIE.  If you don’t write, you won’t write.  Period.  End of story.  End of all stories, actually.  Tragic, really, if you think about it.  I beat myself up over my inadequacies but every time I post something my hit count climbs higher and higher.  People wouldn’t read what I’m writing if they thought it was garbage.

And I have all these sweet ideas, too.  Mostly they amount to chopping up books and movies I love and putting their pieces back together like Frankenstein’s monster, but whatever.  There’s no such thing as originality, after all.

And then, of course, there’s Salvation.  I’m in love with my characters.  I love Cherry because I’m narcissistic.  I love Casey because I’m going to be mean as hell to him but he’s gonna obey, anyway.  I love Rupert because he’s going to grow up to be one twisted mammajama.  And I love the man in black because he’s just so damn sexy in that powerful, evil, despotic kind of way.

But I keep getting hung up because I want it to be perfect the first time.  Even though I know it’s impossible, even though it was a project intended to be more word vomit than anything, some stubborn part of my subconscious gets all gun-shy and nervous about clicking the Publish button.

So consider my little hiatus over.  Done.  Finis.  I’m going to pony up and do what needs to be done, which is to write.  No more whining, no more second-guessing, no more pissing and moaning over a case of writer’s block which fundamentally can’t and never will hinder me.

I am a writer, after all.  So I gotta finish the shit that I start.


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