And that is a huge joke…one I’m not laughing at. It’s not writer’s block, is it? No, it is insanity. It’s a little early for Seasonal Affective Disorder to rear an ugly head.
Writer’s block…”All work and no play make makes Jack a dull boy…Don a dull boy.” I feel like Jack Torrance in The Shining although I’m not ready to chop a hole in a door….Maybe mad enough to chew nails and spit rivets…what in the hell does that even mean? I think Don was a dull boy before the writer’s block.
I’m writing about writer’s block. Geez.
Honesty is the best policy. It’s not just writer’s block. It is do anything block. I gave up and tried reading and then continued to binge-watch the series Justified… looking for motivation, to no avail. I failed. I didn’t get my chores done either. I’m such a slug. All I did was vacillate between the activities I refused to do.
I have too many voices chanting in my head. Imaginary friends, voices of long-dead friends, voices of enemies I wish were…no, I don’t wish that on anyone. I have voices from characters in three different storylines I’m having trouble completing. Completing? I just want to move forward a bit.
I just reread forty-four chapters in one and deleted half of them. I deleted them on purpose…garbage I say, garbage!
I went for my morning exercise. Usually, a bit of exercise will clear my head and quiet the voices. I focused on the portion of the story involving the death of a major character. I wrote it in my head, around and around it went, like flushing an imaginary toilet until I got it just right.
Returning home, I sat the chapter aside and let it marinade before sitting down and failing to get it written down. Could death be the problem? She is a fictional character and the story won’t work without her untimely demise…Geez. I’ve become attached to someone who doesn’t exist.
It is another day and I write in the morning, in the pre-dawn hours…or in this case stare at my computer screen. It suits me most of the time. Friendly ghosts seem to surround me, whispering in my ear. They provide no help. I hear their little “Casper the Friendly Ghost” voices ridiculing me. Maybe they are not that friendly.
I’ve wasted two hours of prime writing time writing this blog. My story sits, unwritten…all three of them. Lucretia still lives. Allen Kell is frozen in my mind, his hand hovering above his six-gun as he tries but fails to save her. How will he not save her?
I must shut down the computer and start my day. Exercise and then major chores. Like the story of the hard-working ant and the lazy grasshopper, winter will soon be upon us and there is so much left to do…from not doing it during the summer. Preparations must be made, must be made, must be made…if I say it enough…. How does a fiddlin’ grasshopper morf into a hard-working ant?
Don Miller, when sane, writes on various subjects, some real, others imagined. Access his author’s page at https://www.amazon.com/Don-Miller/e/B018IT38GM
Images from various meme mines.