For the past few days, I've been recycling things I wrote years ago--because the stories mean something to me, and I don't think I'll ever try to publish them.
I've also been recycling because I'm dry. I haven't seemed to be able to tap into the wellspring of creativity for a couple of weeks now. It happens from time to time, and I try not to let it get me down. (For one thing, if I dwell on it, it starts to feed itself. I think about how I'm having a hard time writing and then I can't write, so I dwell on it... vicious circle, here I come.)
Yesterday I thought I had it licked. I started to write a little ditty for a themed literary magazine. I got it all written out and then... I started to think my writing sucks. It doesn't, of course. I'm just feeling that way. This big amorphous blob of self-doubt has plopped on my parade route. (Hey. That rhymes. Maybe I should be writing poetry.)
I could always blame it on the snow, I guess. It's sapping the life right out of me. Yeah yeah, that's the ticket.
Thursday This n That
17 hours ago
3 comments:
There I was looking up your blog address and bingo! a comment from the Shrugger comes in to Cobwebs Of The Mind.
Yeah right...blame it on the snow..
I MISS SNOW...
Get your tushy to work Shrugged...write..submit..and stop blaming it on the snow...
you can always blame it on me :)
You don't suck! All you need to do is refill the idea pool. If you don't have it, try reading Lawrence Block's Telling Lies For Fun and Profit. That should perk you right up :)
You can have all my snow, Teddy. I moved to FL to avoid the snow, and somehow or other I ended up back in it again.
Thanks, Alex. It's just one of those whiner moments. (Hush, Teddy. I read your blogpost. I know you know I'm not one of THOSE whiners.) I'll get over it. I have these slumps from time to time. Best bet for me is to just ride it out. Find something else to do for a while and then come back to it. =oD
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