The Long Hiatus

I haven’t started writing yet. It’s been that kind of semester, where I don’t feel like writing at the end of the day. This is not to say I have been completely devoid of writing-related endeavors. I have been waiting for Reclaiming the Balance to come back from a sensitivity edit. I have been working on Kringle All the Way‘s plotting and characters so I’m ready in November. I made a poster for Reclaiming for my office (and have yet to print it).

I haven’t felt like much of a writer lately. Fewer stops to Starbucks, fewer days writing, less inspiration. Neither of my open novels are doing a thing for me inspiration-wise. Not much flow when I do write. I feel a bit foolish now talking about flow and how well I had been doing.

I will go to Starbucks tonight to work on Kringle All the Way. I need some plotting and character sketches before I start writing in November.

Wish me luck.

Long Break

I haven’t gotten back into my writing routine, and that worries me.

Maybe I’m tired at the end of the day, facing new classes and old challenges. It’s more likely to be that I’m stymied about my current writing projects, pantsing projects that seem more often than not to run themselves into walls.

Maybe I need a break from writing right now, but I’m afraid my break is going to turn into a forever break. I can’t believe that a couple months ago, I said that writing was my flow activity and I could never see myself not writing. Right now writing is not flowing at all, but jolting like riding a bike with square wheels.

I know I’ve written this before. Many times, in fact. This time is not different. I will get over this.

Looking for the World of Dreams

Lately my life has been too many words.

I work with words all day, and especially here in the summer, when I don’t have much else to do. I have been working on several projects, putting the words into place and polishing them up. Short stories, novels, cover letters — all have been revised. But I am weary of words; they’re not inspired at this stage.

Words and Dreams

Inspired words have to come from somewhere. In my case, they come from dreams and daydreams. The realm that is illogical. I dip into that realm, find the inspiration, and use that thought and the energy to influence building out the dream into something readable. This is why I write fantasy instead of, say, historical fiction.

I haven’t had any of that kind of inspiration lately, and it shows. All I have been doing is revising, the brain work. No aha reactions, no warm feeling of having a scenario in my head (in my case it’s in words, not pictures, because of my aphantasia.)

A wake-me-up

A fellow writer in a writer’s group has assigned me to people watching at the cafe, listening to some good music (in my case, either ambient or singer-songwriter compilations). I think I should take notes away from the computer, preferably with my brass Kaweko Sport fountain pen. And I shouldn’t think about what I should write, but see where the inspiration hits me. Hopefully short stories and poems, because with 7 novels and one to be revised and added to, I probably have more than enough novels to consider publishing.

So that’s my plan for this afternoon.

Sigh.

It’s almost Christmas.

I’m done putting together my classes (except for minor touches).

I haven’t gotten anywhere on my story.

It just figures, doesn’t it? That story (Gaia’s Hands) will be the death of me.

I think I’ll do those final touches on class today.

Gaia’s Hands is certainly not doing well. Sigh.

Dear Santa, I need a breakthrough on this story for Christmas.

Waking up my writing

I am trying to wake up my writing. My hectic schedule and the exhaustion that comes from wading through COVID-19 measures in the classroom, plus the lack of things that energize me (a movie, a writing retreat, something other than work or home) make the inspiration nearly absent.

“What do you want to write about?” No idea.

I’ve even had trouble writing this blog. I missed yesterday; I’ve missed other days here and there. I started this blog with a desire to write daily, and I’m afraid that if I don’t keep that up, I will just quit.

But I’m here today, and that’s what I need to do: keep showing up.

I’m doing some things to reclaim my imagination. Debbi Voisey (@DublinWriter on Twitter) hosts online workshops, and right now she’s hosting a prompt workshop, where for the first seven days we take notes on a total of 21 prompts, and then write. I’m hoping to get a short story out of this that I’m proud of.

If you have any ideas about how I can renew my imagination in the time of COVID-19 (and its restrictions on travel) please let me know!

Free-Writing

I’m staring at the screen, wondering what to write today.

I have a blog to write. I feel totally uninspired despite two cups of coffee and a LED light block shining at my face. (I just made the mistake of looking at it, and a phalanx of dots is fouling my vision.

I have a short story to write. I promised myself five stories this year, and I’ve only written one so far. I have the idea fleshed out in my head. I just have to write.

So I’m writing about not writing. The irony is not lost on me. It’s something I learned over the years — if you can’t write about something important, write about something trivial and see what happens. It’s called free-writing, and I use it a lot.

Sometimes, to snap an idea out of my head, I write differently than I normally do. I use notebook paper instead of the computer. I write with a fountain pen (mine is pink with pink ink) instead of a ballpoint. Sometimes I write on black paper with bright metallic gel pens.

Free-writing opens my mind to the rhythm of words. Almost like the trance writing of mediums, it opens my mind to ideas. And, worse comes to worst, it’s a great way to practice my handwriting.

So I’m here to recommend a different type of writing for writer’s block — nonproductive writing that’s secretly productive.

Sunday morning at Mozingo and my lack of inspiration

Sunday morning at Mozingo Lake. I’m sitting on the couch swathed in blankets in front of the fire, recovering from my decision to turn the heater down for the night. The main room temperature was 57 degrees this morning; the bedroom, without its own heat, probably hit the low fifties. So I’m now pampered on the couch while Richard makes hot chocolate.

I’ve decided to do one more editing pass of Whose Hearts are Mountains, suspecting that I concentrated too much on the “was is where have had has” and not enough on other aspects that need smoothing out. And I have one more novel that needs editing after that.

I’m postponing writing another novel, and I know it.

Like I said, I have an idea for a new novel that I’ve been sitting on for a while. The name of the novel is (tentatively) God’s Seeds; I’ve talked about it in these pages. It might help me to do what I usually do when I write — pay attention to the relationships between characters. The themes come first, the plot I create in the outline, but in my books, the relationships between characters create the dialog and the unfolding of the story. The main relationship in this novel is between Baird Wilkens, a half-human Nephilim and Leah Inhofer, a young adult with a startling gift. The story is in the Archetype universe, taking place a year or so after the Apocalypse. (Note to readers — the Apocalypse doesn’t turn out like you think. Look up the origin of the word)

It’s just hard to write right now because of my failure to get something accepted. I’ve already fulfilled my goal of writing a novel several times over, so another novel isn’t a tantalizing new goal. I haven’t gotten published or even found an agent yet, and so that goal seems daunting enough that I’m becoming avoidant.

What do I need right now? A clear path — an idea of what to do next. Give up? (I don’t feel like I’d have closure if I did this.) Self-publish? (I’m still scared of landing into obscurity, and it wouldn’t feel like closure.) Keep plugging away? (Insanity is doing the same thing over and over with the same results). Pray? (I’ve been doing this. No answer, my friends. No answer.)

At this moment, I guess it doesn’t matter, because I’m parked in front of a warm fire in a pine-paneled cabin, Outside lies a snowy landscape and iced-over lake. All is fine.

Just Write

I can’t get my thoughts to coalesce.

I’ve tried three times to write on topics — the beginning of the semester, growing older, expecting more from people — and the topics keep winding around in circles until I don’t know what the topic is anymore.

It could be because I haven’t had my coffee yet, I suppose.

Ever have one of those days? “There’s something … bothering me … but I can’t for the life of me figure out what.” It’s that sort of feeling. There’s an elusive topic, something my heart needs to write about, but I don’t know what it is and my brain’s having none of it.

Now I have my coffee — home-roasted and fresh-ground, so you can feel jealous of me — and I’m still not sure what the topic is.

The ideas to write aren’t always there. At five in the morning, I’m not always there, either.

The idea, though, is to write and keep writing. Even if the words aren’t flowing, even if you don’t know if you’re making any sense, keep writing. Keep your pen ready, keep your fingers warmed up. Write something.

You’ll have to go back and edit it anyhow.

Settling in

Second day of the semester, and I’m struggling to write.

It may be that I need to put away Whose Hearts are Mountains for another work, perhaps a new work, but I’m not inspired yet.

I’m not panicking yet, because I blame my lack of inspiration on the energy it takes to start a new school year. Once I get settled into the year, I’ll be inspired to do something — hopefully a totally new thing — when I have space in my head.

In the meantime, I’ll give myself time to do the blog almost every day, and sit for an hour with my computer screen,waiting for the ideas to come.

I’ll let you know when something happens.

The Centipede’s Dilemma

A centipede was happy – quite!
Until a toad in fun
Said, “Pray, which leg moves after which?”
This raised her doubts to such a pitch,
She fell exhausted in the ditch
Not knowing how to run.
— Katherine Craster , “The Centipede’s Dilemma”
******************
I’ve been thinking too much while writing the first draft. I know many of the rules of writing, and I’m keeping them all in my head at the same time, and trying to edit at the same time I write. It’s not working. I’m only writing 400 words a day, and have 10,000 words to go.

Writing coaches say, “Just write. Don’t edit. Just write.” This is the reason, because too much self-examination can tie one in knots, like the caterpillar. I’m worrying about the book, about what I’ve already written, and distracting myself from the moment.

I need to cut that out.