I’ve lost my enthusiasm. My inclination is to put the entire blame on the circumstances of my life and the routine I’ve been forced into during this last month. What’s more, I think some would agree with me. My life and routine, I’m afraid, are just a part of the trouble.
It was a mere six weeks ago I felt the passion surging through me. I was getting a fair count of words down, and my intentions ran deep. I’ve been slowly accomplishing what I’ve set out to do, taking the craft of writing more seriously. But the spur for the task wanes now and I’m not sure where the bulk of the blame should lay.
Perchance the obscurity of my motivation is with the work I’m trying to accomplish with my fictional story/book. The shadows of the plot I’ve had from the beginning are still there. Little clips of what changes I foresee in my second draft are firm in my thoughts. Yet, the push to move forward is hiding somewhere within the nooks and crannies of my brain. I sit in this seat tugging and pulling, hoping to uncover the elusive veil of my inspiration.
Writing by scene has gotten me this far, eight scenes in all so far. How I’ll arrange them into chapters is something I haven’t thought too much about yet. What is disturbing me is I feel so little has been revealed within all these pages. I’m left feeling that I’m not getting anywhere.
When I allow the rational part of my noggin to come forward, I realize that with a writing project this big and still in the early stages, I shouldn’t be expecting great leaps and bounds. I tell myself, “Many writers take a few years to write a story. There is nothing saying I can’t do the same thing.” Moreover, I’m aware that with writing being one of the arts, there aren’t any right or wrong ways to go about it.
Then my natural tendencies to be a right-brained thinker pop in, shoving all common sense away and out of reach. The emotions churning inside of me emerge, playing havoc with my intentions. My mind tells me, “There are also plenty of authors who are writing stories/books within a few months. Why can’t I do the same? Where has my drive gone?” The answer is where I want to place all fault. I tell myself it’s because of my current state of affairs.
Yet, examining my circumstances with, what I hope is, an open mind, I recognize the brass tacks of my situation not being all that grave. Sure, I have my obstacles that are frustrating beyond belief at times, but I can’t fathom the idea of being the only one who has these. In addition, I’m certain other novice and seasoned writers have worse plights in their lives.
Nevertheless, part of the blame is with the calamity in my home, but more of my demise is due to lack of sureness. I keep wanting a map or instructions laid out before me, telling me where to go next and what I should be doing. With this being an impossibility to obtain, I must come up with something else that will help. It was just yesterday that I decided to give up, not forever, but long enough to get some bearings on where I am going, what I’m doing, and at what speed. Maybe just doing a survey of the writing terrain will give me confidence. During this small but important pause in my endeavor, I hope to find productive ways to display my other pieces and improve on what I’ve already done for my story.
Certainty muddled, I feel this is a plausible supplementary exertion.
- Writer’s Block (theinnerlimits.wordpress.com)
- Welcome to My Blog Adw: Adrift on Dark Waters (adriftondarkwaters.com)