Precarious, Indeed.

I can’t say for sure when it happened but it happened all the same.  I am sitting here with a lack of enthusiasm for pretty much anything but hot chocolate and napping.  The computer-my faithful companion at best-glows as I stare with guilt and utter frustration, the words mock me with all of their pleasantries and loveliness.  The harder I try, the worse it becomes until I can no longer even turn on the computer.

Instead, I open a book and devour the very words I long to put to the page.  The merriment of losing oneself in a perfectly crafted story is wasted on someone in my predicament.  You see, I am stuck.  Stuck in a rut, blocked, drained of all creative drive, whatever you’d like to call this mysterious ailment that has plagued me for the past month or so. 

Is there no remedy?  No cure?  I read in hopes of leaping over the invisible wall that has built itself around my right lobe.  Thus far, I have accomplished writing three chapters, only to have irritated myself with the gunk that came globbing out so much that I deleted them.  Did it bring relief?  Sadly, no. 

What to do?

I have spent hours reading through all of the whimsical and downright hilarious tips that WEbook came up with on their site.  I have attempted to write bits of ordinary life, an editorialized piece just to prove to myself that I haven’t lost it completely.  I’ve even taken to revising and editing my “Finding Casey” series in hopes that something will put sparks to this pool of flammable liquid that is my brain.

Nothing.

So now what?  Theorize as to what my problem is?  If it will help, then why not?  Here goes:

• Work has taken on a life of its own.  I would be lying to myself if I said it had no affect on me because the more effort I pour into keeping my office functional, the less “juice” I have for anything else.
• Life hasn’t exactly been exciting.  Not that I need an ever-present circus act or thrill ride to write, but in reality, if I am not at work, I am at home.  There is no happy medium.  Responsibilities at home are just as pressing as the ones at work; even moreso because my family is my number one priority.
• I am stuck in a house I hate, in a city that has quickly lost it’s alluring luster of five years ago, with a car that I can’t bear to put in the graveyard just yet, dwelling with unnecessary worry about money and the fast-approaching holidays; everyday worries that everyone suffers.
• Lest I forget the omnipresent sense of anti-socialism.
• Could it be the cooling temperatures?  The lack of social obligations?  Self-loathing?  Who knows!

It may seem to you that these are trivial, but trust me, my psyche does not compute trivial matters.  It takes these little seeds and plants them in the soft, rich earth, tending and watering them until the first signs of life sprout from the ground.  Days of intense attention to the budding seed and it feels more overwhelming than anything else.  

Is it normal?  Maybe…maybe not.  Until the day comes where words flow up and over that little wall in my mind, I will hang on precariously, teetering on the edge of futility and practicality.  Riding out this storm of frustration.

The Phoenix

Finally!  I am finally back to my life again.  It’s been tougher than I first thought, struggling with my life and integrating my desire to write.  Nothing ever seemed to mesh right, the character’s actions all wrong for the intended ending, just everything.  I actually saved 9 (yes, 9!) versions of the last chapter I posted.  It was a phenomenal sticking point and it really had me questioning my dedication to finishing this novel. 

Take that, add the extra pressures of work, family and weekend swim meets that necessitated trips to two other states and it made complete sense that I had myself a little meltdown.  I was completely fried, burned out of doing anything other than sleeping, showering and eating.  Yeah, nothing gets in the way of those things.  Ever.

If only I had known that all I needed was a little reduncy, some patterned activity, and I would have been fine all along.  Once I was back in my routine of working, hanging out with my son and letting my internal editor sit quiet for a little while, I felt better.  I posted a chapter, unpacked my suitcase, painted my nails, all of the things I neglected for what seemed like months.

Basically, it was as though I was a Phoenix, rising out of the ashes, reborn once more.  It was a crazy trip and I’d like very much to never experience it again, thank-you-very-much.  Meltdowns aren’t much fun.

Sweet Vacation

After four days of sleeping in an extra four hours and napping casually as I deemed fit, I have returned to writing once more. 

There is something to be said about vacation.  I mean, for me it was getting away from the stresses at work (and yes, my job is particularly stressful) and clearing my head.  Finding my focus has become top priority in these last few days.  It wasn’t really writer’s block that prevented me from posting a new chapter because I had written it – twice.  It was the fact that writing it didn’t give me the release I had always gotten before.  You know, the anticipation of putting up a chapter that you are proud of, impressing yourself with how well you are pushing the story, all of that.  I didn’t get it.  So I scrapped the whole chapter.

Have you ever fought your fictional character over creative differences?  I’ll admit it…I have.  It is frustrating to watch your story you so happily created get twisted into a direction you didn’t see coming.  I’ve written about it before, the struggle with Ace.  It is again, my most troublesome character.  He is complex and superficial, understanding and misunderstood, resolved and conflicted, both Yin and Yang.  How am I supposed to write for such an irritatingly perfect character?  Ugh!

I guess what this rambling all boils down to is for me to come back in a few days, after I have released my next chapter, and reflect on the fact that vacation was the perfect prescription to my writing.

Listening to Ace

Have you ever had a character so irritatingly adamant that it is distracting?  Well, for me, it’s Ace.  He is so complex and multi-layered, it sometimes is hard to write his story.  In one minute, he’s the angry guy who could easily lash out at anyone who gets in his way.  The next minute, he’s the incredibly understanding guy who is willing to give up everything to do the right thing.  He confuses me but inspires me all the same. 

This past week, he has been vocal, telling me that he’s tired of being pushed aside.  It was this voice, his deep and cool voice that woke me yesterday at 5:16 am.  “I’ve got something to say,” he said as clear as day.  I didn’t want to get up, preferring to sleep in on a particularly warm Saturday morning. But as the fan whirred, I grabbed my pen and index card wheel and surrendered. 

An hour later, I had filled up three 5 x 7 cards with ideas and Ace’s thoughts.  I didn’t know it at the time, but I was pushing aside the story because I was bored.  I see it now and I’m slightly chagrinned.  There is so much story to tell-to write, and I subliminally contemplated giving up. 

So, thanks to my morning wake up call from Ace, I have a renewed sense of focus.  I thought he was too complex for me to write, too torn for me to convey, but I get it now.  Sometimes, listening to your characters will push you over the road block where what you want and think they should do meets what they want and need to do.  Surrendering to the process just might get this book finished after all.

I can hardly wait to see where it takes me!

Rewrite

How dare I speak the very word “rewrite”?  It’s like saying Swine Flu in Dollar Tree.  What on earth am I thinking?

That’s just it.  I’m overthinking this whole thing.  I have a completed chapter and it just isn’t “gelling” like it should.  It’s one of those pivoting, launch-the-storyline kind of things and my little internal editor is driving me crazy.  I want Alex to be more complex, less accepting of things.  Does he cooperate?  No.  He’s ready to just go with the flow.  It’s that love-hate tug o’ war that is so frustrating at times. 

Oh well.  I’m headed to the donut shop for inspiration.  Maybe Alex and Jack can hash it out while I’m there so I can stop thinking so hard and get on with my rewrite!  Geez.

Music Required

I didn’t really think that I needed something in order for me to focus.  Sure, I can go to my trusty old computer with a monitor that weighs thirty pounds, nicely upgraded with a wireless keyboard and mouse (Christmas rocks!), flick it on and BAM! I’m ready to go.  But then there are days like last week when I distract myself by reading other’s projects on WEbook and not doing more than a few sentences on Lie To Me Too. 

But alas, I have figured out the missing link.  Music.

I bought a new mp3 player, spent two days filling it with the likes of Bob Marley, Linkin Park, Jill Scott, IZ, 10 Years, Spill Canvas, Eminem and Digital Underground.  All in all, I have just skimmed the surface at 600 songs with room for a thousand more and couldn’t be happier.  Putting in those nifty little noise-cancelling earbuds was like locking me in a box…just me and Miss Dell (the computer, of course).  Now, I am bobbing my head and tapping the keys with a “pretty fly for a white chick” rhythm. 

Music.  Go figure.

Say It Already

Seriously!  I mean, I’ve got this damned story in my head and my character is not cooperating.  I want to go one way, he the other.  Sure, I may sound crazy but crazy gets books written.  Oh, the late nights of furious tapping of the keys only to read it back and say “What the hell?”  Welcome to my life!

So the vote ends tonight and I realize my books were a long-shot at best.  If I received 50 votes, I’d fall out of my chair.  WEbook is a great site for people like me who need constant accountability.  I’ve got a few dedicated readers and I value their input to the point that I obsess when it takes more than a few hours for them to read my new post.  Sad…so very sad.

It still amazes me that I work nine to ten hour days only to work out for an hour, come home, get caught up with the kiddo and his day, waiting for bedtime every single night.  It’s no wonder that my character doesn’t cooperate-I barely squeeze enough time to brush my teeth (and there are days I’ve been too pressed to do that standing at a mirror).  One of these days, a choice will have to be made.  The crappiest thing about it though, I will be the one making it.  Blah!