Looking for story, story, story
Looking for a story but only seeing air,
Exasperation, frustration,
Nothing real there.
As spring begins, I find myself in a freelance work lull which means I cannot run away from the manuscript any more. I’ve been running for quite awhile, so working that fiction muscle, well… it aches.
Giving advice I do not take myself.
Books I should read closed on the shelf.
Hopeless, hoping… Doing? Nothing.
Sitting doggedly at my computer, surrounded by writing craft books (more on that in another post), the only real progress that I’ve made is to realize that my WIP actually contains two plots, two stories that maybe cannot work together. So, now what?
How long should I sit here? An hour? All year?
Fretful, anxious. Full of fear…
Symptoms everywhere, I should get tested? See a doctor.
Be more rested.
Stop watching TV all night long. Listen to music.
Sing a song.
For clarity, I have 226 pages of this non-working manuscript. Plus half a dozen thought documents, character lists, explorations. I sit here doggedly, trying to make sense of things. Trying to choose between these proverbial babies. Reminding myself that I’ve published two novels. I can do this again. Right? Maybe? Mostly feeling useless. Like I’m wasting time while the rest of the world keeps going productively ’round and ’round.
What am I doing? Nothing’s happening here.
Just spewing garbage onto the page. Doesn’t help with the rage.
March is Marching On
I don’t want to seem too glum. Honestly, there have been some bright notes in this rather chaotic month. Went to San Francisco for a very happy reunion with a dear college friend, fabulous foodie, and SF afficionado. Short-form: Unbeatable city walking tour, endless laughs, and yum! We also caught a fun production of Clue at the San Francisco Playhouse. Back in Washington, I saw a wonderful and thought-provoking contemporary choreography program at Pacific NW Ballet, Boundless. Still, the words are fighting me even though I’ve really been trying to fill the creative well.
Anyway, what does “filling the well” really mean, particularly in the context of writing? To fill the creative well, should one take a writing break? Explore art? Connect with nature? Read and read and read? I’m beginning to think this metaphoric well is as mythical as the fountain of youth. And the search for it can lead, at best, to a tacky theme park in St. Augustine, Florida. Maybe you disagree? Maybe you feel that there is a “well of creativity” wherein a writer can seek (and find) story. If you’ve found it, please send maps!
If there is a spark of light to be found in this situation it is that I haven’t given up. Here I sit, at my laptop. Each day, I try to build a little more of a writing routine. Each day, I push those keyboard keys, try to be honest with myself, try to get some fresh words onto the virtual page — and to make some choices about the mess of words already in the files.
That’s it, I guess. I’m still trying.
