A beginning is a very delicate time
In December, my excuse for being all non-writerly was that I'd just finished NaNoWriMo. I'd decompress and then get to editing "Cream And Bastards" in January. And that sort of is how I started out. Except I've found that I just can't read "C&B" right now. Fair enough.
But dammit, I can't get started on anything else, either, and it's pissing me off. There are two ideas in my head right now: one is something I started last year that needs to be rebooted, the other is an idea for a different sort of fantasy novel. I don't want to get too detailed about such things for various reasons, just suffice it to say that I think both of these ideas have some merit.
So I sit down with notepad and pen, and noodle a bit. But I can't get any traction right now. It's disappointing. I feel like I'm just sitting in the mud, flooring the accelerator, and accomplishing nothing more than spraying muck everywhere, painting myself with it.
This is a common sort of thing. A friend of mine was complaining about writer's block in her blog recently, and I was all would-be-reassuring. This is a universal experience of trying to get thoughts on paper. I'm not trolling for sympathy with this post, I'm merely venting; fuming, really, huffing out steam through the grillwork. It's vexing to be this constipated.
Yeargh. That's the word for it, and it's not even a damn word. Yeargh. Shout it from the rooftops, pound your chest and scream yeargh at the passerby like Kong up on the Empire State Building. Bare your teeth and swat at unseen planes. Yeargh.
Whatever, nevermind. I'm off to look at my blank page. And my pen, which I could also bitch about right now but I'll spare you the insignificant details.
Yeargh.
But dammit, I can't get started on anything else, either, and it's pissing me off. There are two ideas in my head right now: one is something I started last year that needs to be rebooted, the other is an idea for a different sort of fantasy novel. I don't want to get too detailed about such things for various reasons, just suffice it to say that I think both of these ideas have some merit.
So I sit down with notepad and pen, and noodle a bit. But I can't get any traction right now. It's disappointing. I feel like I'm just sitting in the mud, flooring the accelerator, and accomplishing nothing more than spraying muck everywhere, painting myself with it.
This is a common sort of thing. A friend of mine was complaining about writer's block in her blog recently, and I was all would-be-reassuring. This is a universal experience of trying to get thoughts on paper. I'm not trolling for sympathy with this post, I'm merely venting; fuming, really, huffing out steam through the grillwork. It's vexing to be this constipated.
Yeargh. That's the word for it, and it's not even a damn word. Yeargh. Shout it from the rooftops, pound your chest and scream yeargh at the passerby like Kong up on the Empire State Building. Bare your teeth and swat at unseen planes. Yeargh.
Whatever, nevermind. I'm off to look at my blank page. And my pen, which I could also bitch about right now but I'll spare you the insignificant details.
Yeargh.
Comments
On the other hand, I'll share something I learned from years of playing Starcraft: If you can't break through, go around. Maybe your muse needs recharging, and you should go do something else entirely for a while. Take up a different art form - write poetry instead, make music, draw or paint something, do some photography with that new camera. ;) Then when you make your way back to fiction writing, you're refreshed and ready to go.
I think I'm afraid of it. :P I worry that if I dig into it and truly start editing and rewriting, I'll decide it's such total cr*p that it's not worth any effort.
My internal editrix is pretty harsh. I think I'll write a couple of short stories to gain some perspective, then come back to the novel.
Good luck with a productive beginning!
I'll get through this. But there may be some annoying and whiny posts up here with me grumbling about how I can't seem to write.
And Jeri, you can say "crap" here.
:-)
Mmm. Maybe not. It really did stink.