I watch the ripples change their size
But never leave the stream
Of warm impermanence
And so the days float through my eyes
But still the days seem the same
And these children that you spit on
As they try to change their worlds
Are immune to your consultations
They're quite aware of what they're goin' through

Monday, September 15, 2014

The Struggle

What follows is probably incoherent whinging, but maybe I can work this problem out. Or maybe you can.

Okay, so I really want to get back to work on the WIP, Post Rapture Industries. I'm afraid I'm getting too far down the line from the story and it won't make as much sense if I don't get it out soon. Sure, I know, I can update it, whatever. But it feels as if the moment is slipping.

Also, there's a big wall there in my head. And it won't budge. So I'm not getting words out. In fact I'm not getting any words out (you know, except for here on the blog), which is a problem. The next month is going to be insane time wise. I already feel like all my spoons are spoken for. But I want to get back to writing fiction.

So I think about this short story I had that I really liked. It needs rewriting. I probably should start over fresh and rewrite it from scratch. It has the potential to be good. It has that feel of a live wire, you know. It's also pretty scary (not as a horror story, as in scary to write because what will people think of me if I do write this).

And I know, I know, that's what I should be doing. I should be writing the things that scare me. The things that aren't easy. The things that people will look at me on the bus (if I still took a bus to work, which would be kinda cool again, but, yea, the buses don't go where I need them to) and if they recognized me they would move to seats far away from me. The kind of writing that my Mom would say, "Oh honey, you had such talent…"

And then there's the novel. The idea that came to me early in the summer is like a siren signing on the shores and I'm not tied to the mast, yet. It's pulling me. But I have a feeling it's because I don't know the story. I've got the ideas, I sorta know the direction. But how I get from A to B to C to Z isn't all that clear. And I know that's part of the big draw of it. I wanna know that story. I need to know that story. And it could be very good or could be very mediocre, it's that kind of thing (this is part of my "feel" for my writing, sort of like how I know what are short story ideas and which are novel ideas, and roughly how many words they'll take). So there's a challenge there. Which is also drawing me.

And I've already gone off the WIP to write a novel. Maybe that's the secret, though. The current WIP is "that story", the one that got away that was This Big. Yea, that's a little too depressing to think about.

But I want to get this other story out of my head. At least the crappy first draft. So I can start restructuring and pushing all the right buttons for it. But that's also hard. There's that wall there, remember.

I've always felt that writers block happens when the conscious writer's mind is rejecting what the subconscious writer's mind is trying to tell it. When you know what you should write, but you don't want to. And then both sides take their little red wagons home. And that's sort of what I feel like here. And since I know this, you'd think it would be easy to push around it. I. Keep. Banging. My. Head.

Argh. I'm not sure I've come to a decision. It could be related to being out of spoons. I know that happens, but (insert long chain of curse words here) I want to get back to writing fiction. I need to get back to writing fiction. With the day thing, the reboot, the coming PRN position (have I forgotten to mention I've been hired PRN as a Rad Tech, yea, that happened, and it's causing stress, not because of the job, but because of all the hoops I've gotta jump through first), getting the roof fixed, all of that is just sapping all my spoons.

Still not a decision. Not sure I feel better. Maybe I need to sleep on all this.

And then there's the thought that if I wasn't spending some spoons on this blog, I might have some to write fiction. But I like this. I like this blog. I like the ease (yea, right) of writing it. Well, okay, I like the outlet. I like putting the words together, I like sharing things I find interesting, I like seeing my readership numbers go up since I've been publishing more regularly (waves to all the new people). Yea, I'm vain in that way. You all get me high. Just saying it here (why not).

But I know people who have gone off their blogs and they all seem to have success at writing after they did that. Some of them started writing for publication after I did. And I'm wondering if that's part of the success, channel my time into fiction writing (there was a typo of "function writing"), writing for pay ("Why did I go to someplace that I didn't know if they spoke English, 'cause the check was FAT. And I'm a little whore." - Gabriel Iglesias) Yea, welcome to the voices in my head.

And I thought about just deleting this. But the Muse is saying it needs to be out there. And we do as the Muse asks (for those of you new to this blog, following the Muse's orders is why there is a blog to begin with).

End author whinging (but I reserve my remaining time).

Damn. Now if only the fiction would come that fast.

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