rj_anderson (
rj_anderson) wrote2008-03-05 11:51 am
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Getting (re-)Started
Thanks for all the kind and encouraging words in response to my last post. To more fully explain my mental state, I offer this two-part cartoon:
Except with a lot less procrastination and a lot more piano-banging -- or in this case, laptop-banging.
I'm used to having three days twice a month where I can't write or even think straight; I've even come to factor those times into my overall writing schedule, because they're so predictable. This difficulty, on the other hand, can't be written down to any of the usual cyclical-hormonal factors, and it's unnerving me.
I knew I'd be in a bit of a slump after the exhilaration of finishing my revision of Knife: that was why I took a whole week off after finishing the book just to relax and think about other things. I was actually looking forward to getting back to Touching Indigo at the end of that hiatus -- but no matter how I tackled that first scene of Book II, it refused to come together. Even once I got the dialogue down, I couldn't make the narration happen.
And then I went back and looked at the work I'd done on Knife, which at the time I'd been so pleased with and generally proud of -- and I hated every word of it. I picked up another author's book, one I'd read before and enjoyed -- and I found fault with that, too. Which made plain that this was an irrational mental state rather than an objective problem with my ability to write -- but knowing that doesn't actually solve the problem, alas.
I don't feel that taking more time off is the solution, because aside from a few head-bashing attempts I've now taken at least two full weeks off writing -- actually closer to three. And the less I write the more frustrated and daunted I feel, and the more conscious that the lovely productive writing habits I built up over the ten weeks I was revising Knife are going down the toilet.
It would be nice to be able to embrace the "give yourself permission to write crap" philosophy and just hammer out something at random -- but while noble in intent and effective for many, that strategy doesn't work at all for me: if I think I'm writing crap I won't want to write at all. So right now the only thing I can think of is to keep doing something related to writing, even if it's only making notes. Something that allows me to feel like I'm making needed progress, without pressuring me to deliver a level of prose that my brain isn't up to at the moment.
Eventually this block will clear, I know.
I just wish I knew when.
Except with a lot less procrastination and a lot more piano-banging -- or in this case, laptop-banging.
I'm used to having three days twice a month where I can't write or even think straight; I've even come to factor those times into my overall writing schedule, because they're so predictable. This difficulty, on the other hand, can't be written down to any of the usual cyclical-hormonal factors, and it's unnerving me.
I knew I'd be in a bit of a slump after the exhilaration of finishing my revision of Knife: that was why I took a whole week off after finishing the book just to relax and think about other things. I was actually looking forward to getting back to Touching Indigo at the end of that hiatus -- but no matter how I tackled that first scene of Book II, it refused to come together. Even once I got the dialogue down, I couldn't make the narration happen.
And then I went back and looked at the work I'd done on Knife, which at the time I'd been so pleased with and generally proud of -- and I hated every word of it. I picked up another author's book, one I'd read before and enjoyed -- and I found fault with that, too. Which made plain that this was an irrational mental state rather than an objective problem with my ability to write -- but knowing that doesn't actually solve the problem, alas.
I don't feel that taking more time off is the solution, because aside from a few head-bashing attempts I've now taken at least two full weeks off writing -- actually closer to three. And the less I write the more frustrated and daunted I feel, and the more conscious that the lovely productive writing habits I built up over the ten weeks I was revising Knife are going down the toilet.
It would be nice to be able to embrace the "give yourself permission to write crap" philosophy and just hammer out something at random -- but while noble in intent and effective for many, that strategy doesn't work at all for me: if I think I'm writing crap I won't want to write at all. So right now the only thing I can think of is to keep doing something related to writing, even if it's only making notes. Something that allows me to feel like I'm making needed progress, without pressuring me to deliver a level of prose that my brain isn't up to at the moment.
Eventually this block will clear, I know.
I just wish I knew when.
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I was quite serious about the suggestion to write fanfic, you know. Keeps you limber, but no expectations --
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I wish I could say something useful and encouraging, but all I have is a store of internet hugs that you're more than welcome to. Maybe this time of note-taking and outlining and what-have-you will produce something wonderful. *prayers*
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Then set the timer and try for two or three or five minutes of writing again.
This has sometimes worked for me, leading me down interesting sentences that eventually allow me to relax, pull my shoulders away from my ears, and stop just fricking hating everything I'm doing.
The other big factor for me is sleep. I hate that it's true, but if I'm short on sleep, I'm crap at the computer.
Good luck! You can do it!
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Perhaps some tactile exercises are in order? Or some character dreaming? I wouldn't say "don't write," just fly to a different area of the cloud of mental activities that are associated with writing.
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It seems the point is to get back to being playful, which is hard to do when you've been doing such focused and concentrated work for so long. But you'll get there! Something will break the logjam. Keep trying different things - journals, wordgames, bad poetry, whatever - something will work. I'm sure of it! Because you are a born writer, aren't you?
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Yeah. If it helps any, I did the same thing with the article after I got it back from the editor. Literally couldn't believe any reputable magazine would take such an amateurish bit of junk. Howver...they did. :) In my experience the feeling does pass, after awhile.
Playful...sometimes I enjoy spending awhile just contributing to other forums, or the TV Tropes wikipedia, or other similarly fun-but-pointless stuff. The interest is there, but the obligation to be dead fascinating isn't, so much.
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Fitter, happier, more productive?Incidentally, I went to your MySpace page but I can't listen to anything cause you haven't got downloads enabled and my dial up can't cope with streaming music, so enable a download, why doncha?
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I think the longest I've gone without any inspiration was 6 weeks -- very long 6 weeks. I'm sending my muse-ical thoughts your way, Rebecca!
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I hope your muse comes back soon.
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Before I discovered filk, used to try to write fanfic. I usually gave up eahc effort after a page or so, and very rarely finished anything.
A big part of the appeal of filk writing for me is that's possible to complete a song before either (a) boredom sets in, or (b) I notice some humungous plot/logic/character hole that means the project isn't worth the time. And if it's a funny song, humungous plot/logic/character holes can be part of the fun. =:o} If you're halfway through writing a serious song and you realise it's pants, you can often turn it into a silly one instead, and at least salvage some of the original ideas. (And sometimes, a silly idea can turn out to actually be quite poignant when rendered in song.)
And if it's *still* pants, at least you've only wasted an hour, instead of a whole day/week/month; and you didn't spend the whole day *not writing*. =:o\
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It's just a pity that it will be my last book ever because I CAN'T WRITE!
Dunno. It's partly post-partum; I've felt that every time I finish a big project. And it's partly the I AM A REAL WRITER NOW feeling, keeping me from doodling and scribbling and exploring. But the truth is I have no idea what I want to doodle and scribble and explore about.
I feel so useless. My powers of expression have simply left me, and I am bizzarely comforted to hear yours have left you too. Maybe I've got more faith in yours than in mine. I know yours will be back so maybe mine will be too...
Tea sometime? No more tapioca beads in it, I promise.
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