Dodging...
Dodging...ducking...it's not writer's block, but a certain lack of passion.
For lack of a better term.
I've fallen off my writing motorcycle and faceplanted into an indifferent berm.
Realistically, I have forty percent of a script that's just sitting there. The beginning, the pre-climax, climax, and finale are all mapped out, but it's a no-go.
I have two short stories down and two more outlined for my first book.
I have my second screenplay, the epic, a.k.a. "The Opus," at ready to be converted into novel form, and all I have to do is type it. If that isn't lazy, I don't know what is. How easy is that? Just re-inject the prose back into it that was there in the first draft, add the descriptions that are lacking from the screenplay form and...instant novel. Hell, the dialogue is tight and is exactly where I want it to be. Still...
The Missus ever the muse, bought me two books to get the screenwriter in me going. One is on Kubrick and the other is on film noir, which should do it because that's good screenwriting porn, folks. Yet, it didn't and the books have just sat there since Valentine's Day.
I'm not rich and I do need the money. I do need the change in career, my job pays okay but it might be phased out within the next decade or my body might give out before retirement and my department doesn't have paper-pusher positions. I should be a better provider for my family and damn if I don't want a house with my own bathroom, office, and central heating. Some storage would be nice too so I wouldn't have to step over everything.
Instead, I sit here like a lazy wild dog sunning where there is no heat to be had, while the metaphorical tsetse flies devour me at an equally lethargic pace.
Cheers, here's a toast with a procrast-a-chino, two sugars and vanilla soy milk.
For lack of a better term.
I've fallen off my writing motorcycle and faceplanted into an indifferent berm.
Realistically, I have forty percent of a script that's just sitting there. The beginning, the pre-climax, climax, and finale are all mapped out, but it's a no-go.
I have two short stories down and two more outlined for my first book.
I have my second screenplay, the epic, a.k.a. "The Opus," at ready to be converted into novel form, and all I have to do is type it. If that isn't lazy, I don't know what is. How easy is that? Just re-inject the prose back into it that was there in the first draft, add the descriptions that are lacking from the screenplay form and...instant novel. Hell, the dialogue is tight and is exactly where I want it to be. Still...
The Missus ever the muse, bought me two books to get the screenwriter in me going. One is on Kubrick and the other is on film noir, which should do it because that's good screenwriting porn, folks. Yet, it didn't and the books have just sat there since Valentine's Day.
I'm not rich and I do need the money. I do need the change in career, my job pays okay but it might be phased out within the next decade or my body might give out before retirement and my department doesn't have paper-pusher positions. I should be a better provider for my family and damn if I don't want a house with my own bathroom, office, and central heating. Some storage would be nice too so I wouldn't have to step over everything.
Instead, I sit here like a lazy wild dog sunning where there is no heat to be had, while the metaphorical tsetse flies devour me at an equally lethargic pace.
Cheers, here's a toast with a procrast-a-chino, two sugars and vanilla soy milk.
Labels: Writing habits
posted by Writeprocrastinator at 4:17 AM
8 Comments:
what was the film noir book called?
Todd,
Literally, "Film Noir." It's by Alain Silver and James Ursini. These cats know their noir because I've heard their DVD commentaries on five out of the six DVDs in the "Fox Film Noir" collection.
The book is slightly smaller than a coffee table book, though it is worthy of coffee table status in terms of pictures, content and glossiness.
It's published Taschen, a German publisher. They did the Kubrick book as well.
I so feel your pain. But you must keep the faith. As much as writer's block sucks the ass of an old lady with alzheimer's, you simply must push through it. At least that's what I tell myself. Then again, I think denial is a glorious manifestation. That, and living in a fantasy world.
Hang in, bubbie.
A sheynem dank, Katie for the nudge in the right direction.
You've still got it in you. I know you do. Take the time to believe in yourself and the passion will return. Don't look too far ahead, just word by word.
XO *** G.L.
Rah-ming Salamat (sp), G.L!
Some writers make a fortune on books about ending writer's block. I think they'd make more if they wrote books on how to shake some of us out of our hammocks. At any given moment I can find at lest 10 things that will keep me from writing anything more than a blog. Including writing a blog. Or posting comments. :P
Welcome Princess Ladybug,
Yeah, I'm guilty of blog-hopping entirely too much when I should be writing. That's how I found your blog while I put off yet another round of writing ; )
That's a great suggestion, "How To Get Your Creative Mind Out of The Hammock And Into Gear." Do you mind if I borrow that title if I'm down to writing how-to books?
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