The Key to Writing is NOT Being Me

Another rant coming- plug your ears and then cry because HA! You can’t block the written word! It is a swarm of mean little gnats coming at you and worming into your soul so you can feel the anguish of my privileged first world existence!

DO YOU FEEL IT YET?

And…giving a rest to my unfortunate sense of humour, let’s get down to business (to defeat the Huns). Writing is a masochistic task at the best of times, especially if you’re like me and have just the vaguest of ideas about what you’re actually doing. Basically, I have a general idea of what happens in each eighth of my story (yes, I split it into eighths- deal with it), but other than that…my mind is an empty cavern with the creativity scraped off the rocky walls. Sure, on the surface that sounds like a fantastic way to write a novel- you get to be creative and make things up as you go along! You get to have fun and be spontaneous!

Nope.

See, when you write spontaneously, you end up not writing at all.

Allow me to explain: you wake up in the morning, inject a cup of coffee in your system and decide to work off the energy by taking a healthy jog. Ha. Ha, ha, ha. Okay, let’s be serious. After practically bathing in a fountain of pure caffeine because you were up past 3AM last night falling into the abyss that is the internet, you decide to make one productive decision in your miserable life and apply your mind to writing. You open your laptop to the document that is your novel, poise your fingers over the keyboard and…begin turning the air blue with your French. Even though you don’t actually speak French. Because you’re not speaking French- you’re fucking swearing. The reason? Your brain is a stubborn asshole who refuses to let out ideas at convenient times. So, you don’t know how your hero gets off the literal cliffhanger ending alive, and you don’t know what personality your stereotypical “best friend” character has, and then the world explodes because you don’t know what is happening! 

It’s very stressful. Not to mention, if anyone ever walks in on you while “writing”, they would probably scream, seeing you staring at your laptop like :

Image result for locked mind

Give me your secrets!

That’s what the guy in the picture above is saying, by the way. Image credits go to: http://comicvine.gamespot.com/articles/off-my-mind-are-superpowers-locked-away-inside-us/1100-141363/

Which brings us to the reason I am ranting: I cannot, for the life of me, figure out what happens in the fifth eighth of my book. Like…I’ve written half of it (ooooh boy, this amount of math is giving me a headache. Well, it’s either the math or the cold that I’m currently nursing…ah choo!), but the other half is just not coming. Oh, shut off your dirty minds, I don’t mean coming in that way. Or maybe I do- I’ll leave it to you to figure out the truth. Mystery is my middle name. Or is it?

I’m constantly going off topic in these rants, aren’t I? I feel like I’m supposed to apologise for that, but my last sneeze has blown away my last fuck.

At any rate, tomorrow you’ll get to see one of my stories, which has actually been somewhat edited.

Heads up: that story features a stalker, and a much more subtle “voice” than my own. Which should imply that I am not a stalker (lies- I explore social media just as much as you do).

So, what do you do when you’re stuck banging your head against the wall of your own imagination, begging for a scrap of an idea…an mere crumb that you could possibly roll into a snowball (such a beautiful metaphor, I know), only to be rejected like the short fat girl asking the hot football player out in all those cliche teen prom movies? Ah hem, no I do not relate to that embarrassment. Rude of you for even suggesting it.

**Why Sam, why??????**Falls to the floor on her knees melodramatically**

I think maybe it’s time that I stop embarrassing myself and get down to business. I will find the key to my dumb brain and unlock the mystery of part 5:part 2.

You actually believed me, didn’t you? Or did you?

 

 

 

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