I accidentally took a sabbatical from writing.
This is not to say it was entirely necessary. Though the situation was definitely antagonistic to my writing, I could have continued. Regardless, I did not.
Now, I am paying for it.
Dear reader, I have learned another valuable lesson: getting back into writing is tough.
I stopped for three weeks. Granted, these three weeks were during NaNoWriMo (which I still find to be inconveniently placed), so I did not finish my manuscript for that, clocking in at about 10k. I am aspiring to maintain positivism, and purge the negative feelings that creep up due to the quasi-failure to complete the goal.
Yesterday, I finally started again, but I am having plenty of trouble dragging the words out into the light. They are rabid, photophobic badgers who prefer the dank recesses of the mind, and fight tooth and nail to remain. Even this blog post, in its relative brevity, has been a battle.
|Writer contemplates amorphous block.|
I opt to participate in the school of thought that does not fully believe in writer’s block. In my mind, it’s a crutch, or an excuse, and not something I need. Still, I recognize that writers do, in fact, sometimes have trouble, and I am currently a writer in trouble.
Besides, I have a bandoleer full of excuses hanging in my proverbial closet (next to the Class 3 radiation suit with the big guacamole stain on it… don’t ask), which are readily available should the need arise. (In case the point is not yet painfully clear, when I was younger, my mother suggested I write a book entitled, “An Excuse For Every Occasion.”)
Today, I also happened by a particular form of social media, where a particular participant had chosen to give into discouragement and go down in flames – destroying their own work and giving everyone the finger.
This hit me harder than I initially expected. At first, I viewed it with a cool passivity. “Oh, look, there goes another one.” I know, it’s insensitive, but it feels like there’s always someone spazzing out online.
Then I realized that, sometimes, I feel like I’m just a few steps away from that point. I go to great lengths to not use Twitter, Facebook, and this blog as a sewage processing plant for all of my negative emotions. To be frank, there’s too much negativity online, and I’d hate for my rage tweet to be the final molecule that brings the Internet to critical mass (explodey).
Even so, when I get frustrated – and, oh, do I get frustrated – it’s tough to not feel like giving up on everything forever and ever. After all, what have I accomplished so far? When I’m disheartened, I’m blind to most good things. It’s like the opposite of rose-tinted glasses. I have shit-tinted glasses.
But then the smoke clears. The dust settles. The townsfolk step back, and the guacamole finally stops twitching. I realize that I’m not writing because I can’t do anything else, but because I like it. I love it. These thrilling highs and dung heap lows are just a part of the game, and I need to work harder to keep myself on a stable medium to avoid the tumultuous roller coaster effect a bit more. And we’re back to…
I shan’t carry on about this today. It merely needed mentioning.
Thanks for sitting with me through semi-banal bout of bloggery. I actually feel a bit better, having written this post. It’s going to be a rough couple of weeks, getting back into the groove, but maybe I haven’t lost my touch after all.