I’m in that stage, Gentle Reader, of hating everything I’ve ever written, prose, non-fiction, academic, narrative. You name it? I hate it. In fact, I Gollum “hates” it right now.
This is a dangerous place to be, especially as today is supposed to be My Day To Get Back Into Writing. It’s why I’m blogging about this problem, because it at least gets me writing about something.
Why is it a Cautionary Essay? Because taking so much time away from writing fiction has put me in this predicament. Part of it isn’t my fault, or at least, totally my fault. I haven’t been home most of the summer, as I’ve been in New Orleans two of the three months. And I’m a creature of habit and circumstance; I need my space, my keyboard, my coffee to write well. But those are just excuses, because I’ve invented them as such. I could have been writing wherever I was: at the coffeeshop, on my dad’s kitchen table, wherever I ended up, because writing shouldn’t stop. You should write. Always. One word after the next. BICHOK: Butt In Chair, Hands On Keyboard. And I haven’t been at all.
So what to do?
Blog, for one, to get everything flowing.
Barrel through it. Stop whining and just write.
Read. Reading always sparks creativity.
Any other suggestions, Friends?