Madness? In March? Wednesday, March 2, 2022

I’ve decided to try and write something every day this month. I only managed a handful of words yesterday (like 90), but this evening I got up to 1865, which is moderately respectable. The other day, however, I found myself in a very odd place that doesn’t come around often for me: facing a block.

It’s reasonable to say I’ve got a war chest of book ideas and projects. Several years ago, I chronicled writing Damen here, then Anne occasionally got some notice, and of course, Flight was ever/is ever at the forefront of my mind. Currently, there’s Nostrum and Teyrrah, but there’s even projects that haven’t been given nicknames yet, and even more that are still simply small notes and ideas in Evernote. I probably have more ideas than I have life to bring even a 10th of them to light. As there are so many ideas floating around in this head of mine, I’ve rarely faced a block since I started to write stories when I was eight years old. There’s always been something to write, some part of some story to tell.

Monday, however, presented me with a block. I sat down with the intention to write, and I even spent a half an hour just reading through notes to figure out about which part of a story I wanted to continue, but nothing came to me. So many things to write and so many stories to tell, yet nothing came to me. Perhaps it was because I had my KaitcoTV going on in the background instead of music. Perhaps it was just fatigue or stress. Maybe my mind just needed a break from constant bombardment and activity and plain noise. Maybe I’m just getting old…? Whatever the cause, it was a bit worrying.

A friend told me that I was a pencil pusher living with a wildly creative mind. There’s some truth to that. My father was an artist and was constantly creating, but my mother was the one who raised me and she has always been the ever-striving business woman. I’ve got a constant battle going between nature and nurture with external noise trying to drown out both, and the other day, all the battling parties left me with nothing to say.

Obviously, the block was short-lived and I can’t discount just plain laziness at its core, but the block gave me a pause. Will I have more blocks? What will I do if I find myself unable to continue the story? I’ve spent nearly 30 years writing stories. What else am I if not a storyteller? Questions, questions, questions. Maybe if I keep asking the questions, the stories will continue to flow…

…

Also, Putin sucks.

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30-Day 5K – Day Twenty-Six Tuesday, June 26, 2012

Between the early hours of this morning and the latter hours of this evening, I edited 6770 words (away at the end of the period). I have a bit less than 18K words left to review in the book and I’ve got exactly 40 pages left in the document, so the end is near and all that…

I haven’t much to post about this evening since I’ve finally hit some momentum after sitting and staring at my laptop for most of the evening and then daydreaming when I hit a block.

I don’t hit blocks very often, but when I do, I just want to have a temper tantrum. Nothing is more frustrating than a block, so I’ll end this now, lest all this writing about blocks creates one.

Tomorrow’s another day Thursday, August 4, 2011

Today started out bad. I went to bed really late, like four in the morning and I have to be up at eight, late and since I went to bed so late, I was far too tired and was in far to much pain to get up and workout, so I let myself sleep another hour. I didn’t get much from that extra hour, though and while I made it to first-job on time, I did not get a chance to really plan my day the way I’d wanted and the day just passed me by so quickly that I hardly had time to think. The entire day was just completely out of sorts and by five o’clock, I knew that if I didn’t get out of the building and see some water, I was going to snap.

I took a drive through my hometown and went to see a little bit of water; nothing utterly significant, but just something wavy and pretty to stare at while listening to some nice music. I calmed as soon as I got there and despite having to battle with an enormous bug that flew into my car on the way back to first-job, the rest of the evening went much better…that is until I started to write.

While I tried to use the last little bit I’d saved from yesterday to stave off a block, it came anyway and I found myself just writing and writing and writing until something made sense. Fortunately, this time around, nearly all of it was usable and I eventually pulled myself out of the block, but it took an additional two hours and two thousand words to get there.

I wrote 349 words (day of class before their Christmas break.) of Damen’s draft and should be block-less for at least through the weekend…hopefully. I’ve still got enough time to get in my nightly routine before going to sleep at my normal time and get up tomorrow to start the day right, so as I’ve titled the post: tomorrow’s another day and here’s a little something to keep me calm throughout it.

The blinking cursor Wednesday, February 23, 2011

For what seems like the entire month, but may have only been the past three or four days (to be honest I’m too lazy to open another tab to check the main page as I type), I feel as if I’ve spent each evening just trying to get to over a hundred words so I can stop.

This has really been the most difficult 23 days I’ve experienced personally. Not that I’ve had any real problems in the past month, but the sheer stress of ensuring that I write something, even when I don’t to write combined with this diet is starting to eat away at my sanity.

I keep having visions for throwing the laptop out the window and then going to Taco Bell and ordering four cheese quesadillas (with tomato and onion), two cheesy bean and rice burritos and a Pepsi so big I could take a bath in it. I’m on the cusp of simply breaking…but on I press.

I wrote 182 words tonight (but his grey eyes still made him nervous); 100 words here, 100 words there. It doesn’t seem to matter much, but I know it is still 100 words more than I had the previous day and 100 words closer to saying “there was nothing left to say” if I even want to leave that as a last line when all is said and done.

The worst part about writing when I don’t want to, is staring at that darn blinking cursor. I rarely need to view it long since I usually have some notes before me and know where I desire to go with the rest of the scene, but there are nights, like tonight, where I simply have no idea and since I’m not in the mood to write, I can’t even come up with something to satiate my writing goals for the evening.

So, I just have to stare at that long blinking line, taller than the text around it and feeling like a baseball bat hitting me between the eyes as it pops in and out of existence on a white background. God, I hate it.

Walls and blocks aside, I got something written today and, after the day I’ve had at first-job, I’m happy to get it.