I began this blog as an antidote to cheery self-promoting blogs a billion fucking years ago (in blog time anyway). Today’s post is in direct contrast with the writing articles I’m so tired of that establishes far too much context. Yes we all know what it’s like to write. We all know what it’s like to write alone. (We are always alone.) We all know the eight thousand cliches about writing, just tell me what I want to know about agents. Jesus H. Christ. OK rant over.
Anyway, I wake at dawn, sleep-walk to my computer, try to say something intelligent, and then what? I write something so trite that my writing brain grinds to a halt. I kill my own ability to write at least once a day. Why do I do this?
The only saving grace is that I am learning pattern recognition. Oh yeah I did that thing again. So I back up. What is the soul-killing sentence/paragraph this time? Once I identify it I have a choice. Delete or move? Can I write again after I delete/move? Yes? Well done! No? Repeat.
I delete my way out of a hole, I “NEED TRANSITION” my way out of a hole, I revise my way out of a hole. I write some more. A strange feeling of self-esteem wafts through the room. Then bam. I’m in a fucking hole again. My writing life is not unlike New England roads after the spring thaw.
By my second hole, it’s time to feed the dogs and do paying work. Someone has to fund my therapy bills. There must be a better way to do this.
What’s your worst metaphor for writing?