There are some people in life who call themselves writers, though not many of them seem to produce anything. Everyone seems to have a book in them, but really they are just romanticising the idea of being a writer. Being a writer seems to be something special, I mean it is, but most people do not know how hard it is to earn that title. And I’m not talking about the actual writing.
From an early age, I like creating stories. It comes naturally to me. I don’t know how, and when looking at both sides of my family, no one else does either. I seem to have sprouted out of nowhere (I’m so totally my parents’ child though). I grew up an only child and also turned out to be a loner too. So in combination with having a somewhat decent writing ability as well, I guess I gravitated towards expressing my stories in words and not another artform.
The ultimate end goal of me self-publishing my words is to create a steady income stream that allows me to write full time. Until then, it’s hospitality work and eustress that pushes me to write around the edges of my life. This means that I forgo other things such as socialising and enjoying my time off with whatever normal people do with their time.
I think I am very fortunate that my hobby of writing is pretty much free or low cost in terms of materials needed to produce anything. But that doesn’t mean its easy. A year ago I was unstoppable in terms of writing. I could produce one to two thousand words a day and then bam! I hit burnout and everything stopped. I had all this free time, tones of irritability and a bucket of frustration at myself. I was doing so well, what happened? I had many unfinished manuscripts, knew the order of scenes, but wat r werds? I literally couldn’t spell properly for months. My facebook chat logs were an embarrassment. You’d think I never graduated primary school.
My brain and body were tied together and while the body was capable, the brain was done. No words from me. Good thing I had a job to occupy my time and give me money or I’d be screwed. I’m not a freelancer because I don’t really want to work with people and I want to spend all my time writing for myself. I’m not going to push out a ton of stories by writing other people’s ones. Do it yourself. Make time or fail.
I think my burn out is starting to wane because I managed to do a draft of The Things We Do, but I had to force myself to do it 😦 I’ve just finished two weeks off from work and I never really utilised it. I think back just over a year when I was powering through and I could have done multiple edits of different stories.
I’m starting to think that maybe I won’t have anything ready until next year 😦 The fact that I have not accomplished anything in the last few months really annoys me. Technically I could have finished and published two stories by now. Just thinking about it makes me feel down. So much time wasted. And I know what I need to do with all the things I have, but I just don’t feel like doing any of it 😦
In the last three weeks, I have not written as much as I would like. I spent a few days in Germany, then I was sick for another four. And while I thought up another book idea I am still lagging behind in writing up others 😦 I think I might be suffering from writer’s block 😦
I am writing up the sequel to Jumpstart, but it’s going so slow. Perhaps only a few hundred words a day. I don’t know why my brain is so mushy. I know the rough order of events. And work has let me stay in the downstairs part of the restaurant during my split shifts. I have the time.
I read somewhere that writer’s block is the manifestation of a person’s fear of failure so that they are too scared to even try to write. And I feel that. What if I can’t finish it? But that’s a stupid thought because I’ve succeeded with others.
I am a bit worried that I won’t be able to keep the main character the same, but that’s just because I’ve never written a sequel before. I don’t know how this book is going to end either. That’s a red flag don’t you think?
But I have a bit more success with this other book idea. I thought it up while in Germany. It actually takes from this idea I had when I was 20. But it’s a story I never developed that much. Maybe if I do I’ll set it in the same universe or something. I’ve done about 5,000 words of it. I thought that was pretty good, but for some reason the next day I thought that I could have done more 😦
Stop. Start. Stop. Start again.
Zoom, zoom, zoom. Page after page.
Why do some of my stories take longer to write than others?
Is it because I’m just not that into them?
Or maybe they are more boring than my others?
Maybe I was never going to be writing at all today.
I finish a chapter than pause, I start the next one and it says unfinished for weeks. But then I open word again and it’s page after page.
The word count passes 10,000 and I pause again.
Is it because I’m lazy? Procrastination? Writer’s Block?
Is that even a real thing? Isn’t it just a physical manifestation of our sub-conscious knowing that there is something wrong with the story?
I change the story’s direction in my head and I write some more.
I pause, I have doubts.
Maybe a break will do.
Let my grey mushy brain churn my story in my sleeping brain.
Maybe in a few days, I’ll have more to add, even though I kind of know where my story is going anyway.