|Photo by: GSofV of Flickr|
Not because of Boston. Although I could certainly try to use that as an excuse. No, I don't plan on talking about Boston. I makes me too sad, and tons of smart, eloquent people have said all I could ever hope to. Go check out John Green or Micheleh's videos, or Chuck Wendig's post, or Patton Oswalt's Facebook post.
No, today I want to talk about writing.
Lately, I've had a bit of a dry spell and I'm not sure why.
My goals of writing 1000 words a day three times a week has been...not bueno. I mean, I've done it off and on. I've managed to up my blogging. But my short fiction has been stunted since mid-March.
The plus sides: I've completed three stories this year, and I did some basic work on a 4th--maybe 1/3 or 1/4 is written? And I've revised two stories have them making the submission rounds. They may be good, they may be bad. But they're out there.
However, I can't seem to get a project to stick in my brain. It's like, every time I sit down to do any fiction writing, I start hearing a chorus of voices telling me my ideas are stupid, my writing is hackneyed, and my stories are as uninspired as a bowl of oatmeal. It's frustrating. The creative wells are drip-drip-drip....dry. I reach for words, and they're just not there.
I know what Chuck Wendig would say. He'd say, "Harden the fuck up, Care Bear". He'd say, "On good days--write. On bad days--write. The words always come first." Or something along those lines. Probably a lot more eloquently. And with several more references to unicorn pole-dancers or leprechaun porn.
I know what needs to be done. I just can't seem to bring myself to do it. And that's the frustrating part.