My mother just recently posted a meme to my Facebook wall. It was from a writing FB group, and the text of it read “Focus on the story, not the sentence.”
My response: “But…but….but, I must make that sentence perfect. And then, because I changed *it*, I must go back and make ALL the preceding sentences agree with what I just said. And while I am doing that, another thought occurs to me about how to make this other particular clunky thing work better, and now I have to go through and make changes to the appropriate sentences that *it* touches on. And that is how I can spend four hours on three paragraphs.”
Mom: “I think that may be classified as OCD!”
MRW I read over my own words.
I suspect other writers do this same thing, at least to an extent. The trick is, of course, to keep writing and writing and writing and then go back through for editing.
I have not yet managed that trick.
I think what I am doing now, sitting down at least every day or so and putting pen to paper (or, rather fingers to keyboard), is a good start. It is better than I had been doing while in the Pit of Despair.
So, being able to sit down and write again is a blessing. And there has been a tickle of fiction mixed in there too; not just my normal whining that I do here.
“Lord bitch. You don’t write. You whine.” [I may be getting that quote a little wrong.]At any rate, writing = good.
Writing fiction sections = very good.
Learning to not overanalyze every single thing I do/write = also good.
As a way to motivate myself, I am going to try and put up some snippets of the words that I do write.
You know, and keep to the actual premise of this blog in the first place.
When did writing become so hard? When did it become a chore to drag a word, a thought, a process out of the black hole of my <admittedly capricious> brain?
But, I think…at least for me..that is a part of it.
There was a time y’all, when I could sit down and just….write. Words and ideas and dialogue and character motivation just flowed out of me, a river of thoughts. It was awesome. I thought it would last forever – I’m a writer this how I write all y’all so jelly of my ability to pull the words out and fap fap fap and so on and so forth.
But, it didn’t last. At least, not for me.
Now I sit down at the computer and stare sullenly at the blinky cursor. Angry. Sad. DARING the fucking words to just repopulate, once more.
If this were a Disney move, this is the point where I would tell y’all that magical talking mice or a tiny spacebot came and talked me through/took me on zany life-altering adventures.
This isn’t Disney, though.
What this is is the same exact thing that happened to me when I went to college. I had never done super well in school. But, except for a couple of choice classes (I’m looking at you, Maths) I did OK. And it wasn’t terribly hard, at all. I could study the text/notes/cliffnotes the night before and do well on an exam. That plus turning in the big homeworks usually kept my grades to an acceptable level.
But, I hadn’t flexed my study habit muscles. Like, ever. So, when I got to college and they expected me to, you know, actually work? Total shocker. It took a lot of blood, sweat, tears, and desperation (I despise losing) to get to where I was a good student.
And I think? I think that this is what might be happening here. I sit down now with a higher expectation of my writing. It has to go somewhere, do something. Not just exist and take up space.
I blame the English degree.
So, now I sit there and try to force a behavior that doesn’t feel natural to me anymore.
Is it age?
Is it atrophy of the skill?
Is it something completely different?
Maybe I am wrong about the reasons why I am struggling with fiction so much right now.
I mean, it feels right as an answer, but I have certainly been misguided by my brain before.
I guess the only way I will know is if I sit down and do the work. Break out the blood, sweat, and tears. Desperation, I’ve already got handled, yo.
I still hate losing.
* – Title is from here. Now is the time for me to rise to my feet (I will be heard)
It has been an exciting1 few weeks around Chez Bon.
Soon after the holidays, Mister Man started to look a little peaked, a touch pale. And then a downright pasty gray. Turns out that he was very ill – in the “Yeeeeeeeeeeah, we’re gonna need to put some extra blood2 in him and keep him for a week, mmmkay?”
Apparently, when one is on Coumadin, one shouldn’t take Advil oh at all. Even if you ARE a nurse and you DO know what you’re doing. Because blood thinners plus ibuprofen equals bleeding ulcer.
Oh, what the fuck EVER.
Cheesuz pleezus.
Anywho, we’re home. Mister Man is fine, albeit a bit chagrined. He has new meds to take and has to go back to the doctor every week until the cows come home, Hallelujah and pass the co-pay.
Oh, except, oops – new job. His insurance has not yet kicked in.
Joy and trumpets, as a friend of mine used to say.
In the meanwhile, I’m still looking for a job. I’d like one in the field that I ran up a ton of debt for, but at this point am looking for damn near anything, up to and including house cleaning, pizza delivery, and substitute school teaching.
A dear friend gave my resume a look-over and made some suggestions. I am mid-implementing them.
I guess what I am trying to say is that no, I have not forgotten you, dear blog. Things just exploded in painfully exciting new ways and I’m still sorting the collateral damage.
Boom, baby.
In the meantime, here is a bit of a story that I wrote eons ago. If I have already posted it – I apologize. I would look but it’s ten ‘til midnight and I’m a touch exhausted.
Much love to you all.
“Joy”
Laurel panted, clinging to the side-rail of the hospital bed. Her whole body ached with the exertion of the birth. Her avid eyes watched the nurses carrying her baby back and forth. She knew in some small, less exhausted corner of her mind that they were doing important tasks with Jocelyn. Probably important. Still, she wanted her baby. She wanted her without understanding exactly why. She thought about that for a moment. Didn’t she love her baby? Weren’t all mothers automatically in love with their babies? What was wrong with her? Was she broken? Did the birth break something in her head? A wall of green and purple snails moved in front of her, blocking her view of Jocelyn, ending the tired chase of her thoughts. She tipped her head back to see a nurse standing there.
“Hey, sugar. That was a hard one, hmm?” A large hand, covered in blue nitrile, tucked a sweaty braid behind her ear. “I got something for you. Thirsty?” A straw bumped against her lips, her slack hand molded around cold plastic. Laurel sucked on the straw. Slightly watered-down apple juice squirted into her mouth. For a split second, Laurel forgot her exhaustion. For a moment there was only the cool, sweet juice. In seconds, the cup was empty. She looked up at the nurse to thank her and saw a pink-swaddled caterpillar in the nurse’s arms. Black hair escaped the top of the blanket.
She took her baby from the nurse, tucking her hand automatically under Jocelyn’s butt. Her thoughts began to rabbit around her head again. What if the nurses noticed her lack? What if she hurt the baby because of her inability to love her? She gazed down at Jocelyn, trying to frame an apology. Puffy eyes gazed blearily up at her. A tiny pink mouth yawned toothless pink gums at her. She bent her head down to place a tentative kiss on the mottled cheek. Warm-caramel baby smell wafted up. Laurel felt every emotion concentrate down to a piercing sun in her heart. The nurses smiled at each other and quietly left the room.
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ETA:
I hope the tone of this doesn’t make you guys think things are all doom and gloom here. As I said, it’s just been a waterfall of happenings. We’ll muddle through and get things back to what passes for normal around here. I just wanted to touch base and give you an update. I still plan on writing my bits and pieces, processing out my thoughts and words. I still have a major overhaul, with much new content added, planned.
————————————————- 1– And by “exciting” I mean “craptastic”.
!["Lord bitch. You don't write. you whine." [I maybe getting that quote a little wrong.]](https://bonsteele.blog/wp-content/uploads/2015/08/patsy.jpg)
The Process 