[Writing] And the butler did it in the kitchen with a spork...!
I have a confession to make, one that I'm not proud of, but then no one is ever proud of their confessions. They are ashamed, or anxious, or worried, or simply troubled. After all, a confession is to make a statement about something you've hidden or ignored .. or merely denied. You put yourself out there, and hope that you're not struck down. That's one of the things that makes a confession so hard to make-- sometimes you do get struck down. You never know.
But, yes. I have a confession. I think I'm allowed a stalling paragraph or two-- no? Very well then.
The muses have been whispering. And I haven't been listening.
... It doesn't sound so bad, I'm sure, unless, perhaps you're a fellow writer or artist.
We writers are a rather unsatisfied lot on the whole. We complain we have no time, and then we complain we have no inspiration, and then we complain we don't have the words. We blame our own Inner Procrastinator for making us waste hours watching the televsion instead of writing, and point fingers at our Inner Critic like a child pointing a finger at a big bully. Our characters run rampant doing things that wreck havoc on their personalities, the stories, and our own fragile balance between sanity and insanity. And our muses are sadistic, megalomanic, temperamental pyschopaths. So why do we continue to put ourselves through torture? Because occasionally,... bliss does happen.
But the issue isn't about why we write. The issue here, heh heh, is why I didn't -- even though I so dearly want to.
So, what's my excuse? It's not due to lack of time. True, work has been sucking my brains out of my ears (ew), but I've been going home on the dot at quitting time, and I've had whole evenings to myself often enough to establish a respectable writing schedule. It could be due to lack of energy, perhaps, but it's not as if I'm mumbling incoherently half asleep.
I suppose it's some form of Inner Procrastination, curse them! Most Inner Procrastinators rely on your inherent laziness. "Why work at trying to coax those characters to do what you want? Why don't you treat yourself to a movie first--after all, you've been working all day." And they can get pretty tricky at how they convince you. "You're not guaranteed to make any progress today on that novel; after all, it can be 'one of those days'; why don't we get the laundry done first, so at least you can say you're productive today?" And they rarely stop once they've gotten a hook into you. "What about the dishes, since we're at it? Or how about a well-deserved nap..." You know what I'm talking about, I'm sure you do -- writer or not, we've all been visited by these fearsome agents of Procrastination.
But this particular instance, this partcular Inner Procrastinator...! How'd this Inner Procrastinator succeed when the muses were talking? I was gettiing ideas.
Kale and Remy dropped by and whispered rather intriguing progression of events, a flaw of character that I could take advantage of. A flaw! The muses even came and proposed a tighter, more tense beginning to Hannah's story. Throw in her ex. Throw in a fight. Throw in Derek! Shake and stir! Shadow came around, although so briefly, I'm not quite sure what to do with him. Or was he just tailing Amber who ran past just as quickly? What are they up to? Why now, nearly ten years later?
I should be thrilled. I should on my knees, thankful, for just moment of course--- and then I should be in my seat in front of that computer, typing as fast as my fingers can take me. The ideas are here. The muses are being kind. And the characters are ready to take the positions! So why is there an author-shaped blackhole in this picture? Why am I not there? Where did I go?!
... I think I know how Mr. Inner Procrastinator distracted me. How could I not have realized this? Or maybe, on some level I did know.. After all, there's only one possible way. Laziness. Laziness and self-doubt. The villian teamed up with Inner Critic! Laziness and self-doubt. What a lethal combination.
Yes, the inspiration was there... but the fear that I would fail the inspiration was so strong even though it was so subtle -- I didn't even get to the point where I would stare at the blank page. Heck, this precedes the Blank Page Fear.
I'm annoyed now. And woe the Inner Procrastinator and Inner Critic who dare try to pull their tricks on an annoyed writer. Because when you get right down to it, it's really quite simple to defeat them.
You just write. So what if it's bad. Or not quite right. The more you write, the more you learn, and the more you learn, the better you get. So, PFFFFFFFT! In yer face, IP and IC!
... now, next up: how to soothe disgruntled muses and characters who have been ignored too long! *sighs*
But, yes. I have a confession. I think I'm allowed a stalling paragraph or two-- no? Very well then.
The muses have been whispering. And I haven't been listening.
... It doesn't sound so bad, I'm sure, unless, perhaps you're a fellow writer or artist.
We writers are a rather unsatisfied lot on the whole. We complain we have no time, and then we complain we have no inspiration, and then we complain we don't have the words. We blame our own Inner Procrastinator for making us waste hours watching the televsion instead of writing, and point fingers at our Inner Critic like a child pointing a finger at a big bully. Our characters run rampant doing things that wreck havoc on their personalities, the stories, and our own fragile balance between sanity and insanity. And our muses are sadistic, megalomanic, temperamental pyschopaths. So why do we continue to put ourselves through torture? Because occasionally,... bliss does happen.
But the issue isn't about why we write. The issue here, heh heh, is why I didn't -- even though I so dearly want to.
So, what's my excuse? It's not due to lack of time. True, work has been sucking my brains out of my ears (ew), but I've been going home on the dot at quitting time, and I've had whole evenings to myself often enough to establish a respectable writing schedule. It could be due to lack of energy, perhaps, but it's not as if I'm mumbling incoherently half asleep.
I suppose it's some form of Inner Procrastination, curse them! Most Inner Procrastinators rely on your inherent laziness. "Why work at trying to coax those characters to do what you want? Why don't you treat yourself to a movie first--after all, you've been working all day." And they can get pretty tricky at how they convince you. "You're not guaranteed to make any progress today on that novel; after all, it can be 'one of those days'; why don't we get the laundry done first, so at least you can say you're productive today?" And they rarely stop once they've gotten a hook into you. "What about the dishes, since we're at it? Or how about a well-deserved nap..." You know what I'm talking about, I'm sure you do -- writer or not, we've all been visited by these fearsome agents of Procrastination.
But this particular instance, this partcular Inner Procrastinator...! How'd this Inner Procrastinator succeed when the muses were talking? I was gettiing ideas.
Kale and Remy dropped by and whispered rather intriguing progression of events, a flaw of character that I could take advantage of. A flaw! The muses even came and proposed a tighter, more tense beginning to Hannah's story. Throw in her ex. Throw in a fight. Throw in Derek! Shake and stir! Shadow came around, although so briefly, I'm not quite sure what to do with him. Or was he just tailing Amber who ran past just as quickly? What are they up to? Why now, nearly ten years later?
I should be thrilled. I should on my knees, thankful, for just moment of course--- and then I should be in my seat in front of that computer, typing as fast as my fingers can take me. The ideas are here. The muses are being kind. And the characters are ready to take the positions! So why is there an author-shaped blackhole in this picture? Why am I not there? Where did I go?!
... I think I know how Mr. Inner Procrastinator distracted me. How could I not have realized this? Or maybe, on some level I did know.. After all, there's only one possible way. Laziness. Laziness and self-doubt. The villian teamed up with Inner Critic! Laziness and self-doubt. What a lethal combination.
Yes, the inspiration was there... but the fear that I would fail the inspiration was so strong even though it was so subtle -- I didn't even get to the point where I would stare at the blank page. Heck, this precedes the Blank Page Fear.
I'm annoyed now. And woe the Inner Procrastinator and Inner Critic who dare try to pull their tricks on an annoyed writer. Because when you get right down to it, it's really quite simple to defeat them.
You just write. So what if it's bad. Or not quite right. The more you write, the more you learn, and the more you learn, the better you get. So, PFFFFFFFT! In yer face, IP and IC!
... now, next up: how to soothe disgruntled muses and characters who have been ignored too long! *sighs*