I visited the old Writer’s Digest today to look at writing prompts because I’m stagnant like a mosquito-breeding mossy woodland pool. I’m breeding mosquitoes that’s how motionless I am at the moment. I might even be breeding ticks!! GROSS. As a nasty aside, I like call them body spiders, personally. I’ll say to my husband, do you have body spiders? Shiver. I hate spiders!!
I’m also ignoring my WIP just for kicks. Or maybe I’m ignoring it to make me complain or have some reason for angst in my life. I like angst, as you can tell.
I think at times I get down because writing a novel takes such a goddamned long time and sometimes I’m just not enthused because I realize how much work I still have to accomplish to get anywhere near publishing my next book. So…tired. And truly, so lazy.
If only I would open the file, everything would be fine because often reading what you already have will inspire you to write more. However, what if you can’t even get yourself to click on said file with your handy mouse? What if you won’t even go near the folder it’s in on your USB drive? What if you’ll scour the internet looking at ridic writing prompts or tweets instead of just writing the scenes that are already in your head? What if you scowl at the idea of writing even one word on this story that you have…57,000 words invested in?
What if you’re avoiding writing by writing a blog post, like I’m doing THIS VERY MINUTE?
I’m very good at coming up with ways to procrastinate and ignore my WIP. It’s like I hate my WIP when just last week I was in love with it and my brain was consumed at all times with thoughts of “what’s gonna happen next?” Maybe…what I should do is post a bit of my WIP here to inspire me to get the hell going! Because that would force me in the context of writing this blog post to actually open my WIP so I can cut and paste something into this document! GENIUS!!!!
I’m the smartest, the bestest, the brightest, the coolest… Daily Affirmations!!
Ok, I’m reading the WIP and it’s kind of like…impressing me. And this is after ignoring it for like a week straight. There’s something haunting and beautiful about it. Hmmm…does that inspire me? Yup.
Here, what do you think: ~~~~~~
I stop and remove my shoes because the feel of the forest, of this freedom, is something that needs to be experienced in the flesh. The supple almost slippery texture of the needles and leaves, the soft moss, the rough exposed roots as my toes grip them, my fingertips brushing against the pebbled bark of a pine tree, then another, then the papery smoothness of a birch, glistening in the night, white and black. A beacon.
He follows. I can feel his nearness, I can feel his longing for this, this freedom, the air, the freshness, the cool gossamer touch of the wind on our skin. I love it. He loves it. I can feel his strength too, how he feels like he just stepped out of a cage and into the air. His lungs expand with it, with each breath of fresh cool ether, like a touch inside him, waking him, rousing him until he wants to fly. I want to fly. I want to touch his heart again, feel it beat, know that we are alive, together, silent, a place where words are no longer necessary.
Finally the stones are cool and smooth under my feet and I lead him through the dense trees and brush to the river. We walk along the side of the burbling cold water, the moonlight playing across the ripples and crests as it flows by darkly, white stones picked out here and there. The stones have a feel too, cold, smooth, soft almost, burnished by running liquid to round silky edges. I show him where I skip across to the other side and he follows.
The brush is dense here, making it a private place and up ahead are the murmuring musical falls, not huge, but big enough to create a deep pool under them. And then there it is, before me, my rock, the large flat one, the one I sit on every time I come here, where I slept that day I was running away. The day she found me, took me, cared for me, died for me. My rock. When my feet touch the cool grey stone, dappled by the moonlight through the overhanging tree branches, it feels like home. It feels like home with him.
I dunno…I kinda dig where this is going. Now if only I can just get over those damn avoidance methods! Sigh…I guess we’ll see. I’ll probably find a way to email everyone in my contacts before I even open the document. Why is it that once you open it and start writing…good things happen?
Here’s my advice…next time you’re slacking, post some of your WIP online to give you the umpf to keep going! It’s gonna work…I swear! (Worked for me…wink wink.) Ok, you’re right that’s just the sales pitch or the hypothesis, I have yet to see if it’s true. But I think it might be. Opening the document was a start…