Typical "woe is me" writer's block post turned pep talk
For the last few months, I haven't been able to write. I can't explain it. I still have ideas rolling through my head constantly, but, when I sit down to make them into something more every word seems to flee before me. It reminds me of a spoken word I once listened to. The speaker talked about what it was like to write a poem. She claimed that she could often feel it coming and that she'd have to race to a pen and paper in order to write it down as it burst through her. There was one particular instance she related she was unable to find utensils until the final word of the poem had burst through her. She described herself grabbing the final word and pulling the poem through her backwards-- and thus, it was written that way.
Writing for me isn't nearly so magical. It is often grueling and filled with self-pity and doubt. Occasionally I sit down and find myself completely focused-- usually when I come up with a new concept. Here's the problem: I don't want to come up with a new concept. I'm still in love with my work in progress, even though I've lost my characters. I'm still enamored by how multi-dimensional this world I've miraculously thought up is. Yet, again, so many parts of the world seem fake or unattainable. Sometimes I sit, look back and realize that my world is nothing but a golem.
So, that's where I've been. Sitting at my computers, feeling dejected, rationalizing reasons why I haven't been able to write: Maybe I've been at the computer for too long. They do say it's bad for you; Maybe I'm just tired and emotionally drained; Oh, I just went through a break up. That's when I realized, if any of my guy friends were there, they'd inform me I was "PMSing" over my story. I was an emotional wreck. Nothing made sense. My characters loved me then they hated me. They made me cry. They were insensitive jerks who thought they could just do whatever the hell they want. They never listened to me! They kept changing and stabbing me in the back.
Well, fine, I'd show them I'd just research sociopathy and androstadieone. I'd create new characters. I'd flesh out the world more and just think conceptually. Who needs them anyway....
Then, inevitably, my strong-willedness would end and I'd run back to them sobbing and begging them to forgive me. I'd profess my undying love for them and tell them they could do whatever the hell they wanted just don't leave me.
It was a vicious cycle.
I mean I got to such an awful point that convinced myself I couldn't write at all. I looked drearily through my past writing and mourned the death of my dearly departed abilities. I might as well just give up and become an awful YA writer who creates a cardboard cut out female lead. A cardboard female lead who falls in love with a dream boy who she then saves or he saves her. Maybe he'll be a little quirky and dark, but still sensitive. Yes, this is what I'll reduce myself to. At least it'll sell.
You know what though? That's bullshit. I've now realized that, since I have no one else to call me out on this, I have to call myself out. I have to force myself to not be a self-righteous prick and check myself (something some of our politicians could learn from). My main characters will be kick ass. They deserve a story and they'll get one. So what if I can't figure out those damn filler scenes or I struggle with a tone. I know I'll get there. I need to stop reading stories and idolizing those writers. They wouldn't understand how to write my characters and how to develop my idea. Their version of prose, quite simply, won't fit.
I know what I'm doing. I just need to trust in myself a little more. I'll get there.
Writing for me isn't nearly so magical. It is often grueling and filled with self-pity and doubt. Occasionally I sit down and find myself completely focused-- usually when I come up with a new concept. Here's the problem: I don't want to come up with a new concept. I'm still in love with my work in progress, even though I've lost my characters. I'm still enamored by how multi-dimensional this world I've miraculously thought up is. Yet, again, so many parts of the world seem fake or unattainable. Sometimes I sit, look back and realize that my world is nothing but a golem.
So, that's where I've been. Sitting at my computers, feeling dejected, rationalizing reasons why I haven't been able to write: Maybe I've been at the computer for too long. They do say it's bad for you; Maybe I'm just tired and emotionally drained; Oh, I just went through a break up. That's when I realized, if any of my guy friends were there, they'd inform me I was "PMSing" over my story. I was an emotional wreck. Nothing made sense. My characters loved me then they hated me. They made me cry. They were insensitive jerks who thought they could just do whatever the hell they want. They never listened to me! They kept changing and stabbing me in the back.
Well, fine, I'd show them I'd just research sociopathy and androstadieone. I'd create new characters. I'd flesh out the world more and just think conceptually. Who needs them anyway....
Then, inevitably, my strong-willedness would end and I'd run back to them sobbing and begging them to forgive me. I'd profess my undying love for them and tell them they could do whatever the hell they wanted just don't leave me.
It was a vicious cycle.
I mean I got to such an awful point that convinced myself I couldn't write at all. I looked drearily through my past writing and mourned the death of my dearly departed abilities. I might as well just give up and become an awful YA writer who creates a cardboard cut out female lead. A cardboard female lead who falls in love with a dream boy who she then saves or he saves her. Maybe he'll be a little quirky and dark, but still sensitive. Yes, this is what I'll reduce myself to. At least it'll sell.
You know what though? That's bullshit. I've now realized that, since I have no one else to call me out on this, I have to call myself out. I have to force myself to not be a self-righteous prick and check myself (something some of our politicians could learn from). My main characters will be kick ass. They deserve a story and they'll get one. So what if I can't figure out those damn filler scenes or I struggle with a tone. I know I'll get there. I need to stop reading stories and idolizing those writers. They wouldn't understand how to write my characters and how to develop my idea. Their version of prose, quite simply, won't fit.
I know what I'm doing. I just need to trust in myself a little more. I'll get there.