Bikes, Hills and My Face (...and other news)
This weekend I'd planned on finishing my blind_go entry, but instead I managed to hurl myself face first into the pavement from my bike. And remembering how fast I was going down that steep hillside road, I consider myself lucky I managed to hurl myself away from the oncoming traffic. Because, otherwise...ugh. But as it is, nothing a bit of bed and rest shouldn't solve (though bending my knees while typing is killing me - spectacular bruises are blooming over those kneecaps; I just hope my face continues being bruise-free). All this does mean, however, that I didn't get to finish for this round of Blind Go. *sigh*
To tell the truth, I suspected I wouldn't finish in time when I first decided on the writing subject. I worked on the story intermittently this past month, but (and I admit this with shame) didn't have the discipline to really slog through everything when the writing got tough. I absolutely look up to those writers who make writing outlines and stick to them (and I have a specific author in mind as I write this - you know who you are) - I am not one of them, though I'm trying to be. And the reminder I use to goad myself into writing even when the so-called "muse" is not calling, is that when I reread what I had written a day or two after I'd initially put pen to paper, I can't tell the difference between the parts of the story that had been squeezed out of me word by word (which I'd thought clunky and hated) and the parts that had seemed to fly from beneath my fingertips with inspiration. Not to say that everything is great (and, hah, don't I just laugh at that thought!), but that "inspiration" doesn't seem to make a difference in the end quality of the words. And that the only way to beat a writer's block is to write oneself out of it.
*goes off to put action to words*
To tell the truth, I suspected I wouldn't finish in time when I first decided on the writing subject. I worked on the story intermittently this past month, but (and I admit this with shame) didn't have the discipline to really slog through everything when the writing got tough. I absolutely look up to those writers who make writing outlines and stick to them (and I have a specific author in mind as I write this - you know who you are) - I am not one of them, though I'm trying to be. And the reminder I use to goad myself into writing even when the so-called "muse" is not calling, is that when I reread what I had written a day or two after I'd initially put pen to paper, I can't tell the difference between the parts of the story that had been squeezed out of me word by word (which I'd thought clunky and hated) and the parts that had seemed to fly from beneath my fingertips with inspiration. Not to say that everything is great (and, hah, don't I just laugh at that thought!), but that "inspiration" doesn't seem to make a difference in the end quality of the words. And that the only way to beat a writer's block is to write oneself out of it.
*goes off to put action to words*