Archive for the ‘writing funk’ Category

In a Funk

It’s just past six o’clock on Tuesday. My wrist hasn’t stopped hurting since last night and it now hurts not only to type but to move it.

Yesterday I made it to fifty thousand words, and I’m not sure I can continue this novel. I need to take a break, to breathe, to decide if what I’m writing is really my best. If this is the novel I need to be working on right now. If I have the time or energy to reach the 100k goal I had in mind at the beginning of the month.

I have a month left of my undergraduate experience. I am still unemployed outside the university, and am trying to complete and send out applications on a regular basis. Finding a job that pays more than minimum wage is going to be a bit tricky, especially around here.

I have a month left to complete my schoolwork. I have at least a dozen stories left to read and respond to in writing class. I have a 10 to 20 page research paper due in my religion class, along with a 15 minute presentation. I have another presentation in my other religion class, which will require substantial amounts of group work. I have to construct a final project in my history class which will require a lot of artistic work.

I can’t help but feel like I”m going to have trouble pounding out 3k a day and do all these things and maintain my sanity. I’m already slipping.

I just need to take a break. Decide if I want to keep this novel going, scrap it and start again, pick a different one and work on that. Maybe go for my minimum goal of 75k so I can work at a slower pace and have a more manageable month.

I just seem to repeatedly have great ideas, but lack the ability to express them to my satisfaction.

Maybe I just need to sleep for a week. Or at this point, just find something to eat. I’m going to a concert in an hour or two, and that should be fun.

I guess we’ll see how things go. Tonight though, tonight the writing just isn’t going to happen. It hurts too much to type.


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On Writing Funk

Some days are easier for writing than others. Today is not one of those easy days.

I felt inspired, attempted to sit and hack out a few more pages of Strain 10. I should really just leave it be until November, have a better plan, better ideas of my characters, more eloquent prose.

My attempt failed. The dialogue sounded stilted and unoriginal, the descriptions dull and uninteresting.

Why is it that I can write these short stories eloquently, creatively, but the novel keeps falling short? What is it in my brain that forms strong and beautiful words, but keeps them from transferring to the paper?

Am I being too hard on myself again? That’s a distinct possibility. I’m a master of self-deprecation, particularly when it comes to my writing.

I’m just not happy with this scene. At all. I hate it, loathe and despise it. I may just jump back and remove it completely. It’s a character study, a heart-to-heart, two of my main characters discussing the third, who sleeps in the back of their van.

I may just need to scrap it, and start over. In November. And focus on the short stories.

That’s the thing about a writing funk. It’s not like writer’s block, it’s a miasma of inability to create combined with a feeling of personal disgust, the feeling that nothing that spawns from your brain will ever be good enough, will never live up to that lofty standard you set yourself, whatever that may be.

It’s unpleasant, but it’s a lot like depression; just have to ride it out. It will pass in time, and hopefully then I’ll be back to the creative process.

That and I haven’t eaten lunch yet. That might get the creative juices back on track.

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