A return to journal writing

Last night was riddled with technical difficulties from my laptop and a noteworthy absence of motivation to write anything at all. Let the record show that lack of motivation continues to linger tonight, which is frustrating but something I’m also pushing past. Go me (and the impressive, unstoppable power of my stubbornness). I’m presently looking forward to tomorrow, which will be partially spent getting a much-needed (and deserved) haircut and wandering around Barnes & Noble. Any suggestions for graphic novels, or novels in general, are always appreciated. One can never have too many books.

Right. So last night I found myself tremendously frustrated. Writing wasn’t happening in any way, shape, or form. I tried different approaches to A Princess, A Lich, and Some Murders, hoping desperately to add to the current word count but only failing to do so. Eventually, accepting the night as a defeat, I closed Microsoft Word. It occurred to me that I’d not checked on when The Literary Hatchet‘s next deadline was, and since I planned on submitting “Cordelia’s” I figured I should check…only to discover I’d missed said deadline. While I generally try to shy from this word, my reaction was a rather loud and appropriate utterance of “Oh, fuck”.

At some point or another, right before heading to bed, I decided it would be beneficial for me to return to journal writing. Not necessarily as a nightly thing, necessarily. I also happened to have my awesome Discworld/Starry Night crossover cover notebook, which had not seen use since it’s purchase. This, in case it needs repeating, is a crime I am regularly guilty of with notebooks. Making matters worse, I plan on stopping by Barnes & Noble tomorrow. That means I could very well come home with another Moleskine notebook. The journal in question, complete with its Squishable guardian, can be seen below.

Squishthulu guards my deep, dark secrets.

Squishthulu guards my deep, dark secrets.

Not only have I forgotten how helpful keeping a journal is for venting frustrations, but I managed to forget its terrific applications as a means to remind myself of all of the positive things I have going on. Not everything in its pages has to be doom-and-gloom, cloudy-with-a-chance-of-bitching sorts of frustrations (that was a horrible joke and I’m not sorry). It’s a reminder that I’m working on more than just one project presently, and that there will be some nights when my brain simply doesn’t wish to cooperate with me in working on one project or another. Those nights are not the end of the world, nor do they render me any less of a writer.

Suffice it to say, I’m already happy with this decision after only one entry. I can only imagine how therapeutic this will prove in the long run.

How many of you write in journals? Is it on a regular basis, or more sporadic, and is there a particular topic in mind or is it more just whatever’s on your mind at the time?

Creative vexations

February is almost over. As far as I can tell, it has been a month of those days for quite a few people, and so I can’t think of anyone who will be particularly sad to see March begin. Except Julius Caesar’s ghost, of course, who will have to endure constant reminders of that one time he ignored advice and got stabbed to death by a roomful of his best pals. The point is that February, chocolates and candy hearts and overpriced dinners aside (or maybe as a contributing factor), performed poorly. I suggest removal from the schedule, effective immediately, replacing it with a month that has its shit together. Honestly, what kind of proper month only has twenty-eight days most of the time?

Tonight’s post was off to about five false-starts. Unlike yesterday’s, the idea didn’t just magic into existence; it’s still putting up one Hell of a fight. Suffice it to say, I am already celebrating scheduling my first week of vacation time, as I think I’ve reached a point where my sanity is questionable on good days and prone to scattering itself via a strong breeze on the bad days. Whatever, right? Moving on.

One thing I’ve noticed recently is that many of the walls we creative types seem to encounter are ones of our own building. This is by no means a revolutionary line of thinking so much as a clumsy personal revelation, so please be patient in entertaining me here.  Continue reading

The thousand-hour Saturday

It’s only nine o’clock at night, I’m tired enough that it feels like it’s after midnight, and I had no real game plan going into this post. I realize that’s a little counter-intuitive, especially since I planned out each day’s topic before diving into this fiasco. My defense doesn’t even feel valid at this point because it seems like everyone had a horrible week this week. If you’re one of those people, I’m sorry. If it’s any consolation, I would have brought about the End of Days but I’ve not become at least semi-famous and beloved by fans of the fantasy genre. My delusions got in the way of my other delusions. That’s what my life has become.

On a related note, I am at least somewhat happy that I will likely never see even a moderate level of fame as I’ve recently gotten to see how people interact with celebrities on Instagram. I don’t feel I’m ready for those levels of insanity on a regular basis.

Today’s been less of a writing marathon as it’s been a writing struggle-to-the-finish. I have short story ideas I need to give attention to, still, and progress on A Princess, A Lich, and Some Murders has been painfully slow-moving at best. If it weren’t for the occasional moments where I manage to continue along with it, I’d say it’s sitting still. The level of frustration I have regarding this semi-stagnation fluctuates. Thankfully.

Not helping, and not fully expounded upon for obvious reasons: life, work, and so on.

On the plus side, I have written a few pages since starting this blog post, although that speaks volumes about my capacity to maintain a state of distraction and less about my ability to work on one project at any given time. Womp womp?

Alternatively, three or more stand-up comedy specials have played in the background, courtesy of Brianne and Netflix.

Tomorrow’s recap will probably be about as exciting as tonight’s post, and so I conclude by saying I hope to make next week a little less dull.

Writerly woes: the frustration of stagnating

WordPress didn’t feel like cooperating with me tonight, and I had a few other issues to hash out so I’m not about to penalize myself for this one being a bit late. Yes, that might be cheating a little and I would feel terribly guilty if I hadn’t posted something every day for nearly the past hundred days.

One of the key reasons I’ve bowed out of the yearly torture-disguised-as-working-on-my-craft known as NaNoWriMo is because I seem to have hit a brick wall. A quick about-face and I discovered another wall. The short of it is I, through some weirdness that happens to comprise part of my creative whims, have found myself quite thoroughly stuck. It’s not for lack of ideas or lack of motivation so much as it is a complete lack of want to write while still wanting to write.

It’s just as annoying as it sounds, and it should be something I can push past…but no luck. So each day I try again with renewed resolve. For now, it’s time to get some sleep. I need to actually post something of substance tomorrow or I’ll be damning myself up and down.

Sleepy, sleepy Sunday

The fog plaguing my brain seems to be dissipating. Finally. Bonus: I have four days off this week as well, thanks to spending some vacation time.

There are several better posts brewing in my brain right now, and most of them are fragments of ideas regarding (surprise) villains. I’d like to say that’s a little something different, but it’s mostly just fluffy silliness while I try to refocus my brain on other writing. Like the half-finished, half-rewritten Screen Robot post I’m doing a positively horrible job on finishing. There are only so many cheap shots one can make at the expense of crossover events (I’m looking at you, Mortal Kombat versus DC Universe you colossal piece of shit).

However, it’s about time for a late-ish dinner and at least one episode of Hannibal season 2 (there will also be posts about Hannibal, if only because I have limited patience for how oblivious the FBI characters seem to be to Hannibal HARVESTING AND EATING PEOPLE’S ORGANS).

Running into a wall (until the damn thing breaks)

I’ve been in a bit of a writing funk this past week or so. Blame it on me not feeling quite 100% or perhaps on the sleep deprivation, but I’ve not really felt like doing much writing. This would be less of a problem if I didn’t have two things I need to finish within a reasonable amount of time (read as about a week ago, probably).

Naturally, I sit down at my desktop, I open Microsoft Word, and then I sit here and stare at the blank document as I become increasingly frustrated with not being able to string words together effectively. Given that I’m working on a post for Screen Robot and a guest post for Onezumi, I want these pieces to be perfect. My current mindset says give up, and there were a couple times today when I considered contacting the respective folks necessary and apologetically bowing out. Obviously bad decision-making on my part resulted in taking on more than I can handle writing-wise, right?

Except I don’t. I can’t, in fact. Just because I can’t force myself into a motivated state doesn’t mean I won’t damn well try as hard as I can until I want to smash my computer (the good news there being I wouldn’t smash this computer because it is a magnificent beast of a machine, courtesy of Jason’s hard work and computer wizardry).

A rather unwelcome guest has arrived, in the form of sleepiness, and so it’s time I turn my attention where it needs to be. If I finish one of my drafts for the night I’ll be pretty content. Two would be better, but the sleepies weighing my eyelids down seem to disagree with the possibility of that happening.

A vexing night

This is going to be short, sweet, to the point, and a pretty healthy dose of “get your head out of your ass and move on already” for myself. That last bit’s kind of important, even if it’s a little selfish. It’s been a weird night of running into walls, struggling with inner demons, and other meaningful cliches for the headaches I associate with dwelling on the gap between where I’d like to be and where I presently feel I am.

Warning: There be some f-bombs a-lurkin’ in this here post.

I could easily put together a post on how many creative-types are weighed down by their own doubt, fear, self-loathing, and so much more (I came way too close to listing the various Sha there, and I’m not sorry to point that out). That’s very nearly what this would have been, but I couldn’t. It felt wrong and unpleasant. Plus it was the last thing I needed to read in the mood I’m in, and so I doubt it’s the sort of thing anyone else would want to read if they’re trying to muster up the energy to get back to work.

Here’s what I’d like this post to be instead. The instructions for myself and any other creative folks, or really anyone, who find themselves frustrated and feeling stuck.

Create. Don’t force it because it’ll only end in regret, but create as often and as passionately as possible. Build amazing, awe-inspiring worlds and populate them with characters both sympathetic and heroic as well as ones who are irredeemably loathsome. Let them move through lives that are only somewhat guided by the art you create and enjoy where things go. Don’t let the goddamn what-ifs and why-nots, the feelings of doubt and failure, all of the shit that makes creative types like myself into their own worst enemies. It accomplishes no good, and only results in nights spent after long days at work only thinking of the things you’ve not accomplished. What you haven’t done or where you think you should be. All of this instead of celebrating where you are and what you’ve accomplished.

I say this as someone who won a book contract, which should be a big deal for me as a writer. I’ve been so busy worrying about never managing to create something that big again and dwelling on how people will perceive my book being published not based on its merit but because of a contest victory.

Screw that.

There’s a reason the saying “Where there’s a will, there’s a way” has endured the test of time. My schedule may be a bit all over the place, and I may question my merit as a writer a good deal. I don’t have a five year plan or a ten year plan. Hell, I don’t even have a particularly well-assembled one year plan. While I recognize such things as long-term planning are crucial to being a successful artist, I’m pretty sure there’s more than one way to handle them.

Most importantly, and veering a little bit back from the rather self-centric post we have here, I hope any artist who finds this gets enough of a boost to keep going if that’s what they need at the time.

Going back to my post about almost being to Pumpkin Spice Season/Hot Apple Cider Season – I need to just focus on finding time to create, not worrying about the outcome. Far easier said than done, especially when every fiber of my being is saying to just go to sleep. What’s the point in busting my ass at a 9 to 5 if I’m not going to find time and energy to do what I love most (hint: I’m talking about writing).

So I end with a challenge to anyone who reads this. Create, with or without a plan, but with all of your heart and soul. Make something you think is awesome, even if upon editing you decide it’s not the best thing ever. At the end of the day, you’ve still made something new that wasn’t in the world before that point, and that’s pretty fucking rad.

One Hundred Days of Blogging – Day Nine

Today has me feeling a bit tired, and I know it’s not entirely from work. I took a nap, which turned into one of those naps so mighty it blocks out any alarm clock sounds. And so I awoke, groggy and slightly hungry, to what should be an evening of writing.

There’s a general malaise about me at the moment. With enough effort, I could probably banish it, but it’s one of those nasty little bastards that just sort of leaves me shrugging my shoulders and feeling generally apathetic. Chief among my complaints is being unable to find a comfortable spot to write in, which sounds a lot like a first-world problem. I briefly considered buying a desk, if only because I’m ready to throw my Surface 2 out the window and call it a night.

All of this complaining has a point. I promise. Two points, really, because it does serve as some small level of venting (which would be going much more easily if my godddamned mouse would stop leaping to places elsewhere on the screen). It also helps me get to the topic, which wasn’t the planned topic, for today’s post. Continue reading

This Week in Misadventures

Or “This week in not really accomplishing a whole lot.”

I’ve got plenty of inner turmoil going on right now in regards to writing (I almost put “write now” by complete accident, and the self-loathing I feel is incredible). Joshua’s Nightmares, book one, is still hanging out on my laptop. It’s just kind of sitting there presently, a nearly three hundred page blob of potential that’s got nowhere to go just yet, and it’s a little vexing. Maybe a lot vexing. A lottle vexing? If I ever use that word again, someone please call me out on it in the comments because that’s just awful.

My conundrum is now the mix of “I have no idea how publishing works and how do I reach out to publishers to try getting this published” versus “Is self-publishing really so bad in this case or is it really just lazy, quick self-gratification”. Both of those thoughts have effectively prevented me from actually accomplishing much (we’ll get to what I did accomplish this week, which is a whole lot of nothing, shortly). If nothing else, I’ve reached a point where I would just like to make this story available for other people to enjoy (or hate, to be fair, because even if someone hates it they still ended up having to read a bit of it, and that’s okay with me). However, I also know that self-publishing is still sort of looked down upon these days, and I’d rather not be burned as a heretic or whatever actual, legitimate authors do to self-published sorts. Continue reading