It is said that writers write.
Jan. 24th, 2014 04:30 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bloodsong1As artists paint, or sculpt or carve or knit or crochet or stitch or etcetera. It is also said that finishing the project, whatever it may be, but especially for writers, is only the start. After completion comes the long dark slog of submissions, rejections, self publishing anxieties, formatting, editing, resubmissions, rejections, ad nausem until one day someone says "Yes, I will pay for this." and you sell it.
I started Urban Fantasy believing I had a very good idea. It was a catchy premise, the market is fairly strong and my idea wasn't in print six months ago. I worked very hard on it and then I hit the Wall. I'm still at that Wall, staring up at its grey concrete blankness and wondering what the hell happened. Meanwhile, Wistfull has its own Wall, not quite as high and crumbling in places and what's showing through the gaps is emptiness.
It is said that writers write. They write a lot. No really, A LOT! For every novel, short story or poems published there are a dozen to hundreds of uncompleted works, ideas that just didn't have It.
I look at my fanfiction, all 12 or so stories, two of which have Walls, with other people's characters lounging around and one original character also staring up at the Wall wondring what the hell happened when she can clearly hear the music from the other side. Again, I had good ideas. At least with the fanfiction I knew where the Walls were and what I needed to do to break through them. I don't have the energy.
Writers write and the ones who've made the long hard slog to that first check, and then the second, and so on, will tell you that persistence, and maybe a little insanity, is what keeps them going. They HAVE to write. It's in their DNA. They can't escape the urge, no matter where they are, how starving they are, or what explodes around them. They write.
Am I a writer? Do I have that drive? Do I have this urge?
A large part of me says yes. Then Indigo points at the row of grey blank Walls in various stages of disrepair, one with adapted music drifting through it, and all I see is grey blank Walls and feel overwhelmed. My nails are shredded and my fingers bleed from trying to dig through the demned things. I have no sledges or cranes or chisels. I'm exhausted from the Indigo, there's no sign of the Muse, I don't even hear her laughing.
Is this Depression?
I started Urban Fantasy believing I had a very good idea. It was a catchy premise, the market is fairly strong and my idea wasn't in print six months ago. I worked very hard on it and then I hit the Wall. I'm still at that Wall, staring up at its grey concrete blankness and wondering what the hell happened. Meanwhile, Wistfull has its own Wall, not quite as high and crumbling in places and what's showing through the gaps is emptiness.
It is said that writers write. They write a lot. No really, A LOT! For every novel, short story or poems published there are a dozen to hundreds of uncompleted works, ideas that just didn't have It.
I look at my fanfiction, all 12 or so stories, two of which have Walls, with other people's characters lounging around and one original character also staring up at the Wall wondring what the hell happened when she can clearly hear the music from the other side. Again, I had good ideas. At least with the fanfiction I knew where the Walls were and what I needed to do to break through them. I don't have the energy.
Writers write and the ones who've made the long hard slog to that first check, and then the second, and so on, will tell you that persistence, and maybe a little insanity, is what keeps them going. They HAVE to write. It's in their DNA. They can't escape the urge, no matter where they are, how starving they are, or what explodes around them. They write.
Am I a writer? Do I have that drive? Do I have this urge?
A large part of me says yes. Then Indigo points at the row of grey blank Walls in various stages of disrepair, one with adapted music drifting through it, and all I see is grey blank Walls and feel overwhelmed. My nails are shredded and my fingers bleed from trying to dig through the demned things. I have no sledges or cranes or chisels. I'm exhausted from the Indigo, there's no sign of the Muse, I don't even hear her laughing.
Is this Depression?
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Date: 2014-01-25 10:46 am (UTC)Probably. It certainly sounds like it.
But maybe banging your head against the wall isn't the best way to deal with it. Ursula and other published writers do talk about pieces that they put aside because they just weren't going anywhere. Just because one piece of work stalls doesn't mean you aren't "a writer". Maybe you just need to take a break and come back to that piece later. Yes I realize you have more than one stalled piece. Maybe we can set a goal of 50 stalled pieces. When you have 50 stories that have stalled. I can come down and talk to you about them and see if we can find a way to get one of them moving again.
Writers are people who write. But that doesn't mean that they work on one story until it is finished. Just find something to write about.
Remember: Who is the protagonist and what does she want?
Sound advice!
Date: 2014-01-25 03:32 pm (UTC)Zahde, Dahling, I need a sympathetic coo! (^_^)