I continue to have problems writing. I’ve never had problems before, not ever. But I am now. (Yes, some of the problems are health related, and some of them are because of the massive amounts of stress I have in my life currently. But I’ve had health issues before, as well as stress, and I’ve always done some level of writing.)
I thought that if I could journal every day, that would prime the pump, as it were, to kickstart me back into writing. It was a good idea, and it has helped some, but not a lot. Not enough.
So I picked up a copy of “A Writer’s Book of Days” by Judy Reeves. Most of the general advice really isn’t applicable for me — I’m not a beginning writer. But it never hurts to think about the basics again. It also has a writing prompt for every day. This morning I sat down and wrote for 30 minutes — actually completed a short story. I’m exhausted and exhillarated.
The prompt for today was, “There were signs and signals.” I set an alarm for 30 minutes, read the prompt, and started writing. I wrote for almost the entire time — I think I finished about 2 minutes before the final alarm went off (there’s a warning alarm on my watch that goes off 5 minutes before the final alarm.)
The signs and signals turned out to be a railroad crossing, and Emmett who ignored them and how his truck got completely smashed by a train, but he walked away unscathed. He claimed he didn’t hear the bells or see the lights — he’d been someplace else — someplace with a green sky and white trees and golden angels singing. Then the story took a left and people all over the world started walking away from accidents — going to this place where they thought they saw guardian angels.
The story ended with pure wish fulfillment — how after five years or so the “warm blanket” effect took hold, and people started exploring again. Stopped worrying about dying so much. How the ocean floors were thoroughly mapped. How the space program got restarted.
Eventually the effect disappeared and people started dying of accidents again, but we’d relearned our lesson — that we are always at our best as explorers. And when we actually found the planet of the guardian angels, it was all worth it.
This isn’t a story that I plan on ever trying to rewrite or send out. It’s far too predictable and amaturish — too removed from real feeling, too preachy. But the fact that I was able to write anything at all thrills me to no end.
I’m planning on doing a prompt a day. I’m hoping that will help me start thinking like a writer again — which is something that’s sadly lacking in my life at this point. I don’t find myself thinking about dialog or character or scene or setting or plot or much of anything. I used to be a writer, think like a writer. I’ve lost that ability somehow. I want it back. I miss it — miss that passion and fire and obsession.
I don’t think I’ll always be writing full stories. Doesn’t matter — what’s important is showing up, getting my butt in the chair, and doing it.
Sometime ebb tides can be long ones, especially after a series of jolts and jabs that hurt more than most. I lost a whole year, after a year of hell.
But it does come back, and your way of shaking and waking the Muse sounds like a gentle, fun way to do it.
Here I am cheering!
Thanks for the cheers! Greatly appreciated.
I know that I’ve had some hellish experiences recently — I’m still processing them, and I know they’re holding me back. But I’ve gotten to the point where I’m tired of waiting, and so I’m trying to gently push.
Best of luck with everything you’re doing!
*hugs*
Been there. Still occasionally visiting the neighborhood.
*hugs*
I know you have. I truly appreciate the sympathy. Hope things are going well for you now, though.
Things are a lot better than they were. The discipline isn’t where it needs to be, but I need to make the conscious effort. I need more hours in the day. There’s more that needs doing that I need to do.
All I can tell you is that it comes back in its own time, and you can’t force it. The small amount of time you’re devoting now is good–Elizabeth Moon had suggested a half hour a day to me, with gradual build-up. You’re reconditioning a muscle, after all.
It’s one of those things they don’t discuss in the writing manuals, maybe because it’s too damned individual to counsel for or predict. How to bounce back after an emotional upheaval. It’s when you learn what type of writer you are, the type who can shut themselves off and keep working regardless, or the type that is drained dry and has nothing left to put on the page. I’ve know mostly either/or, not many in-betweenies.
It dictates how you approach the rest of your writing life, at least imo. Because you know what happens when, and how you react, and if affects how you approach a writing life. How you plan.
I think this story is your brain telling yourself that you can be a writer again, just as those people learned to be explorers again.
Huh. You may be absolutely right, you know. That may be a part of it. (Though I have bemoaned the fact that we’re in such a gelding society right now for years. . .)
Sometime ebb tides can be long ones, especially after a series of jolts and jabs that hurt more than most. I lost a whole year, after a year of hell.
But it does come back, and your way of shaking and waking the Muse sounds like a gentle, fun way to do it.
Here I am cheering!
Thanks for the cheers! Greatly appreciated.
I know that I’ve had some hellish experiences recently — I’m still processing them, and I know they’re holding me back. But I’ve gotten to the point where I’m tired of waiting, and so I’m trying to gently push.
Best of luck with everything you’re doing!
*hugs*
Been there. Still occasionally visiting the neighborhood.
*hugs*
I know you have. I truly appreciate the sympathy. Hope things are going well for you now, though.
Things are a lot better than they were. The discipline isn’t where it needs to be, but I need to make the conscious effort. I need more hours in the day. There’s more that needs doing that I need to do.
All I can tell you is that it comes back in its own time, and you can’t force it. The small amount of time you’re devoting now is good–Elizabeth Moon had suggested a half hour a day to me, with gradual build-up. You’re reconditioning a muscle, after all.
It’s one of those things they don’t discuss in the writing manuals, maybe because it’s too damned individual to counsel for or predict. How to bounce back after an emotional upheaval. It’s when you learn what type of writer you are, the type who can shut themselves off and keep working regardless, or the type that is drained dry and has nothing left to put on the page. I’ve know mostly either/or, not many in-betweenies.
It dictates how you approach the rest of your writing life, at least imo. Because you know what happens when, and how you react, and if affects how you approach a writing life. How you plan.
I think this story is your brain telling yourself that you can be a writer again, just as those people learned to be explorers again.
Huh. You may be absolutely right, you know. That may be a part of it. (Though I have bemoaned the fact that we’re in such a gelding society right now for years. . .)