words fail
I can't. Fucking. Make. My. Fucking. Words. Fucking. WORK.
Goddammit. I get one or two lines out, and then I get so fucking furious that nothing is coming together, I just freeze up with anger.
It's not even writer's block, as much as it's writer's malaise, I guess. I struggle to put words together, and get so pissed that I can't make them come out the way I want them to, I just give up.
I don't know how to break out of this cycle, but I have to do it.
Goddammit. I get one or two lines out, and then I get so fucking furious that nothing is coming together, I just freeze up with anger.
It's not even writer's block, as much as it's writer's malaise, I guess. I struggle to put words together, and get so pissed that I can't make them come out the way I want them to, I just give up.
I don't know how to break out of this cycle, but I have to do it.
posted by Wil Wheaton at 11:02 AM
3 Comments:
Not going to post fluffy feel good crap, since I'm sure thats the last thing you want. Instead an idea to de-funk:
Pick up a copy of dancing barefoot. I'm sure you've got a hard-copy laying around the house somewhere. Read it. I don't mean 'flip through it.' I mean honestly open it, and start actually reading it, page by page. As you finish each chapter, remember what it is you enjoyed about writing each of those entries, and why you put them into your first venture into the non-digital literary world.
Reconnect with why you started writing in the first place, before "Prove to everyone quitting star trek wasn't a mistake's" cousin "Prove to everyone I'm a good writer" came by to visit.
Write a poem for kids. Small kids. Rhyming and everything. Pick the most inane thing you can think of to write about, and struggle with it for 30 minutes. At the end of that, throw the thing out and get back to business. 9 times out of 10 your brain will be so happy to be rid of the poetic garbage you were writing that it'll gladly construct fantastic grown-up prose for you.
I have tossed more children's poetry than the collected works of A.A. Milne, and I feel great. Then again, I haven't finished my first novel yet. YMMV.
Oh, go out and get a pint, for chrissakes.
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