It’s a funny thing how a writer’s block shuts one down. A friend asked me the other day, ‘when will you write me something’. And I stared at the message and thought, when will I fucking write me something? Buck made mention in a recent comment of good stuff I’ve been writing and I wondered […]
It’s a funny thing how a writer’s block shuts one down.
A friend asked me the other day, ‘when will you write me something’. And I stared at the message and thought, when will I fucking write me something?
Buck made mention in a recent comment of good stuff I’ve been writing and I wondered who’s blog he’s mistaken for mine. Mine, you see, has become a series of place-holder posts, made just so I still have some change on this page, or because I’ve found some funny lolcat or a song that fit my mood particularly well.
I look back and can’t even find the last entry I’d call writing.
Where in the fuck did my creativity go? The worst thing is, most of the time, I don’t even care. I look at my blog editor, ecto, and have nothing. Nothing at all.
I was accused of starting a new, secret blog, but if that’s true, it’s so secret even I can’t find it. If you find it, let me know, ok? Because maybe I left what used to be a decent ability to write over there someplace.
Even writing this is a struggle. The effort seems ill-spent when I know I’m getting nothing.
My collection of writing ideas is growing, and yet, they’re notihng but a line, a concept, a description. I can’t convert to narrative. I can’t find the voice I need.
Last night I was watching Moonlight, the new angel rip-off series about a vampire detective. I wanted to like it, for all the heavy stylistic borrowings; vampire as hard-boiled detective. The show’s got some good actors, and a lot of appeal. Yet the writing was horrible; a grab-bag of hard-boiled cliches linked with clumsy dialog and self-conscious pop-culture references. And I couldn’t stop thinking, god, I could do this so much better. I can do hard-boiled. God knows I’ve read enough of it to know all the hammet/chandler/thomas/macdonald/parker cliches. I can write that stuff in my sleep.
And then I thought, no, I can’t. I can’t even write a blog entry anymore.
Where’d it go? And why don’t I care?
Do you really not care?
How timely; I was just talking to someone about writers block–specifically about how I never get blocked at work, where I’m writing in OTHER people’s voices, but I get blocked constantly when it comes to expressing my OWN voice. I was musing about how perhaps writer’s block is it’s own special form of depression or self-hatred…one where one WILL NOT LET ONE’S *OWN VOICE* SPEAK. I don’t know if it’s shame, or fear or exposure, or lack of believe in the fact that one’s personal expression is good enough…
For me, there’s amost a fear sensation there; a tightening up when I think about it and possibly getting started and then a fast clamping down of a heavy metal door just before it all closes off and I feel nothing and I just don’t do it for another day. And then I hate on myself for not doing it. It’s almost like I’ve designed a way to convince myself I suck either way. If I write, it won’t be good enough. If I don’t, I suck for not writing.
Gotta get over that shit; I’m tired of it. And I’m sick of writing for everyone else but me. I guess I still *do* care, even for as long as it’s been that I’ve been shut down about it. Something in there doesn’t want to give up the fight.
I say write, even if you never share what you’ve written.
Most professional writers will say write something every day.
NaNoWriMo is coming up, start prepping for that? Take some tips from them?
I would say definitely don’t hate on yourself for it. Thinking about the whys is the first part, really, of getting over that particular habit… And it’s a bad habit that’s really hard to break.
Describe something. Free write (random nonsense). Play word games on paper. Doodle.
Sometimes writer’s block is actually ‘found something more interesting to do’. As much as I enjoy your posts, if there aren’t any ideas screaming to be blogged about don’t sweat it.
I think the last writing that I’d call writing was the nipple ring entry. The rest has been bloggery. Not that I’m complaining. We take what we can get and personally I almost never write above the bloggy level.
Perhaps your blog is serving less of your needs in life right now… Have you allowed yourself the time and the freedom to still enjoy and relish in life or are you buried under the weight of it. Finding the time for a good scotch malt whiskey or a bike ride with your daughter? If the thoughts in your head are just about survival and you are not one to complain then the “writing” will be harder.
Accept where you are, where your blog is and be at peace with it. Or add one more chore into your life and force yourself to sit down and write and see what you come up with…
Or on the other hand….
Pour some oil all over the place, rub it in and fuck all over the place! Redecorate with pictures of sexy woman and turn it visual… You may not be writing- but at least you’d be having some fun. Your blog would see some new action!
Hey babe –
Yeah. Sucks. Most Muses are ornery, but yours can be real bitches, you know?
They are just *taunting you*, though. They’ll be back. They *like you*, they just like to tease.
And you gotta admit, when the Muse girls are there, you write like a real m’fer. 🙂
The world can wait a few more minutes for brilliance. Watch some TV, hug a kid, it’ll be over soon.
hugs, E
This one hurts… Hurts that you are feeling that you don’t care anymore. If you really believed that you would kill the blog. The whole post says that you do, and you are still wondering what happened. There is one of two thoughts… Either you’re finding some peace somewhere besides writing, and that’s keeping it away. Maybe a release of tension! *wicked moan…* or you are locking everything up too tight and too high strung to relax enough to write, and to admit that you care.
Either way- you should know the answer… The solution is up to you.