The last two weeks have been Festival of Flux, and output has dropped to near zero.
Well, to be honest, with rewrites, I'd have to say "negative zero." Seriously. Goes like this. I write. I write. I write. It goes slooooowly. I am over-thinking. I stop. I read what I have write-ed. I do not like the words I have assembled, and thus, I decide to try to fix them, but am limited in that I have only 26 of these symbol thingies to make the words and either they are broken, I am broken, or the words are Not Right.
So I scrap the whole fucking thing and make a second attempt. And a third. And a fourth. And a fifth. And a sixth. And a seventh. (Seriously, I'll stop when I reach where I stopped). And an eighth. And a ninth. And a tenth. And an eleventh.
This morning was twelve, and twelve was where I realized that the little symbols worked just fine, and even the words were still entirely functional, it was my brain that wasn't right. So I stopped. That is what I am doing now. Stopping.
I will work on Another Project. I will make a couple of phone calls that I desperately need to return. I will watch the DVD reel that ACC sent me once again and decide if I like it or not. I will watch television, because the show is executive produced by David Mamet, who I do not often agree with, but whom I do believe Can Write Like A Motherfuck. I will get some sleep.
I will work on Other Things. Yes, I will. And I will not think about the Work I am not doing, because that is counter-productive in the extreme. I will let my back-brain percolate on ideas. I will circle the problem warily. I will bide my time. And when the motherfucker least expects it, I will pounce, and I will write.
This is my plan.
- Where:World Cup Coffee & Tea on NE 18th
- Mood:
determined
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Comments
Any man who can write this sentence has nothing to fear.
Today I think I'm getting sick, and I have accomplished almost exactly nothing--zero.
So now I'm eating cereal, and will take an Airborn (so I don't get sick so much) and sleep.
You should sleep too. Sleep makes the brain hurts get lesser.
My biggest fear about trying to make it as a writer, actually, is agreeing to something and suddenly having IT, that period of time where you can write it, but your heart isn't in it and it wouldn't be right. I think it's why I'm constantly reading six books instead of one, and working on an audio serial, comics, reviews, novels...I go with whatever is killing me at the moment, and that palpable fear when X has to be done, and NOW, must be extraordinary.
All you need though is for George to punch Biff. You'll fly right up and be playing Earth Angel in no time.
I'm struggling to get a short story finished before month's end so I have a clean slate and clear deck before NaNoWriMo kicks in November 1. I know how it needs to be written. I know the story, the characters, the characterizations, the pacing, the blah-blah-blah . . . but it's just slow in getting from my brain to my fingers to the keyboard.
(And, yeah, you're right about The Unit. Say what you want about Mamet - and I'll probably agree! - but the brother can throw the words down marvelously . . . !)
I dunno... maybe because the days are so much shorter? It used to be that I worked better at night, but as I grow older, I seem to be leaning more towards daylight hours. And when there's fewer daylight hours, I seem to run around in circles, doing a lot of getting nothing done. At least, nothing that seems productive. And then I get caught up on the mind-cycle of... if I'm doing THIS, I'm not getting THAT done, which just makes me spin my wheels uselessly even more.
It'll pass. Your plan is a sound one.