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dragonlady7I am in a bit of a muddle, being simultaneously over- and under-inspired.
I have no less than half a dozen stories that want me to tell them, and I can't really choose among them-- because no one of them pulls at me significantly more than the others, and to be honest, I'm pretty well evenly-stuck on all of them, in that none of them has a great scene that needs writing. They all need background work done, or worldbuilding, or character development, or consistency-development kind of issues worked out; or I need to reconsider plotting, or I need to redo some part of them to allow for changes in the overall story direction, or they need to be entirely rewritten.
And so I am both filled with desire, and entirely lacking in motivation.
Common sense tells me to pick one and concentrate on it. I have tried that. That was Vikings Novel of about two months ago now. I forced myself to keep writing that sucker, and in so doing, stripped the process of any real enjoyment, and in the end wound up with a product I hadn't allowed myself to fully imagine. And so it's got bland characterizations, weak plotting, and didn't hold together past six chapters. That one's still one of the ones on my plate, but i have to start from the beginning again. Again.
I can only write in binges, it seems. My best stories are all like this: a flash of inspiration strikes, I pretty much freewrite the thing, I do some editing, let it mature a little, and after some time, voila, there's a story. And then? And then I spend weeks gnawing on the ends of it trying to squeeze more inspiration out, and then the rest of it joins the pile of my I've-no-inspiration-but-still-vainly-hope-to-finish pile. Which is, oh yes, everything I've ever written save short extracts that were given the "sure it stands alone!" treatment.
And here's the part where I kinda half-regret that I have no other hobbies, and that I'm never really happy when I'm not writing. Because then the thought occurs to me that a break might help, but in the end I know that's futile. I'll just be miserable the whole time. Bah! I am a ridiculous excuse for a human being.
In other news work was reasonable. Tuesday, I shouldn't have called in: the closing bartender for my location didn't show up either, only she didn't call to let them know she wasn't coming. So Judy, who opened, was alone all day (due to my absence) and got completely slammed by two delayed flights, and then they took the second server from Landmark and had her come down to close Torture Bar, meaning Penny, the day server at LM, had to stay late and work her ass off. So she was exhausted yesterday when I got in, as was Judy. But my guilt is alleviated by one significant thing: in our business, it's good to be overworked because it means you make money. Judy shrugged when I apologized and said "Are you kidding? I made up for all the money I didn't make on Monday!"
But if I had come in on Tuesday I would have been able to stay late and close the bar, and so I would have made some money and some overtime. Oh well! It was a necessary mental-health day, and I still believe that. I remained retarded yesterday, but at least this time my bank was on to within fifty cents at the end of the night so nobody had to write me up.
I've left my badge in my bank (which is a metal box full of money that I get to keep at work in a double-locked locking thing) so I won't forget it, but I'm worried that resorting to that means that if I forget and bring it home, I'll forget to bring it in because I'll assume it's there and can't check, and it's just-- it's just bad. I don't know, I need a system and don't have one yet. (And, if I ever forget or lose my keys, I can't open the double-locked box and neither can they, and so I will be both bankless and badgeless.)
So yes, being retarded sucks. And you know, what my mom said to me at my college graduation is true: she should've gotten me diagnosed with something, because God knows my brain doesn't work right, and then I'd have something concise and understandable I could tell people was wrong with me, instead of just usually being competent and then flaking out. I really don't know-- it's kinda like ADD and occasional dyslexia-like slips, but then I'm not really classically either of those things, and in short I'm just kind of an occasional flake, is all. But I wish I had a scientific name for it.
(It was only on my graduation day, btw, that I found out that my mother hadn't expected me to actually get a B.A. in 4 years. The thought hadn't even crossed my mind before then. So I guess it's good that she kept her doubts to herself.)
And oh-- my sister Fiona got herself A Real Job for some company, being a customer service telephone rep and, 2 months a year, being their tradeshow sales person. It's for some kind of clothing company or other. It seems cool, except that it's 45 hours a week and only $10 an hour. But there are benefits and it's A Real Job, not Old Navy.
So now I'm the only kelly girl with not a real job.
And oh yes, they put up the schedules for the next, like, month, and? I'm back in the Club two nights a week. Apparently last week the girl they've had in there on Fridays actually insulted all the Club ladies to their faces, and they made her apologize but they've changed the schedule so she doesn't work there anymore.
Don't worry, I do plan on directly asking the manager if I could get out of working the Club by behaving like that. "But it worked for Kelly! Yes, I know all the Club ladies like me, but I can't afford to work here for $6 an hour sixteen hours a week, so next week I'm going to have to start breaking things."
I have no less than half a dozen stories that want me to tell them, and I can't really choose among them-- because no one of them pulls at me significantly more than the others, and to be honest, I'm pretty well evenly-stuck on all of them, in that none of them has a great scene that needs writing. They all need background work done, or worldbuilding, or character development, or consistency-development kind of issues worked out; or I need to reconsider plotting, or I need to redo some part of them to allow for changes in the overall story direction, or they need to be entirely rewritten.
And so I am both filled with desire, and entirely lacking in motivation.
Common sense tells me to pick one and concentrate on it. I have tried that. That was Vikings Novel of about two months ago now. I forced myself to keep writing that sucker, and in so doing, stripped the process of any real enjoyment, and in the end wound up with a product I hadn't allowed myself to fully imagine. And so it's got bland characterizations, weak plotting, and didn't hold together past six chapters. That one's still one of the ones on my plate, but i have to start from the beginning again. Again.
I can only write in binges, it seems. My best stories are all like this: a flash of inspiration strikes, I pretty much freewrite the thing, I do some editing, let it mature a little, and after some time, voila, there's a story. And then? And then I spend weeks gnawing on the ends of it trying to squeeze more inspiration out, and then the rest of it joins the pile of my I've-no-inspiration-but-still-vainly-hope-to-finish pile. Which is, oh yes, everything I've ever written save short extracts that were given the "sure it stands alone!" treatment.
And here's the part where I kinda half-regret that I have no other hobbies, and that I'm never really happy when I'm not writing. Because then the thought occurs to me that a break might help, but in the end I know that's futile. I'll just be miserable the whole time. Bah! I am a ridiculous excuse for a human being.
In other news work was reasonable. Tuesday, I shouldn't have called in: the closing bartender for my location didn't show up either, only she didn't call to let them know she wasn't coming. So Judy, who opened, was alone all day (due to my absence) and got completely slammed by two delayed flights, and then they took the second server from Landmark and had her come down to close Torture Bar, meaning Penny, the day server at LM, had to stay late and work her ass off. So she was exhausted yesterday when I got in, as was Judy. But my guilt is alleviated by one significant thing: in our business, it's good to be overworked because it means you make money. Judy shrugged when I apologized and said "Are you kidding? I made up for all the money I didn't make on Monday!"
But if I had come in on Tuesday I would have been able to stay late and close the bar, and so I would have made some money and some overtime. Oh well! It was a necessary mental-health day, and I still believe that. I remained retarded yesterday, but at least this time my bank was on to within fifty cents at the end of the night so nobody had to write me up.
I've left my badge in my bank (which is a metal box full of money that I get to keep at work in a double-locked locking thing) so I won't forget it, but I'm worried that resorting to that means that if I forget and bring it home, I'll forget to bring it in because I'll assume it's there and can't check, and it's just-- it's just bad. I don't know, I need a system and don't have one yet. (And, if I ever forget or lose my keys, I can't open the double-locked box and neither can they, and so I will be both bankless and badgeless.)
So yes, being retarded sucks. And you know, what my mom said to me at my college graduation is true: she should've gotten me diagnosed with something, because God knows my brain doesn't work right, and then I'd have something concise and understandable I could tell people was wrong with me, instead of just usually being competent and then flaking out. I really don't know-- it's kinda like ADD and occasional dyslexia-like slips, but then I'm not really classically either of those things, and in short I'm just kind of an occasional flake, is all. But I wish I had a scientific name for it.
(It was only on my graduation day, btw, that I found out that my mother hadn't expected me to actually get a B.A. in 4 years. The thought hadn't even crossed my mind before then. So I guess it's good that she kept her doubts to herself.)
And oh-- my sister Fiona got herself A Real Job for some company, being a customer service telephone rep and, 2 months a year, being their tradeshow sales person. It's for some kind of clothing company or other. It seems cool, except that it's 45 hours a week and only $10 an hour. But there are benefits and it's A Real Job, not Old Navy.
So now I'm the only kelly girl with not a real job.
And oh yes, they put up the schedules for the next, like, month, and? I'm back in the Club two nights a week. Apparently last week the girl they've had in there on Fridays actually insulted all the Club ladies to their faces, and they made her apologize but they've changed the schedule so she doesn't work there anymore.
Don't worry, I do plan on directly asking the manager if I could get out of working the Club by behaving like that. "But it worked for Kelly! Yes, I know all the Club ladies like me, but I can't afford to work here for $6 an hour sixteen hours a week, so next week I'm going to have to start breaking things."
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no subject
Date: 2005-04-21 04:45 pm (UTC)What I find interesting is that, on my end, I’m totally immersed in other hobbies. And yet, here I am working on another story when I told myself I would put all writing aside for a few weeks. It’s like I’m not capable of not writing! It’s pleasing and frustrating at the same time.
Common sense tells me to pick one and concentrate on it. I have tried that.
Honestly...my advice is simply to try again with something else. Inspiration has a habit of drying out like that, especially if you're really trying or forcing something to work. But you said it yourself (more or less)--you need to be writing. If you’re pulled equally in so many different directions, try again at just choosing one and going with it--put the ideas into a cup and pull one out randomly if you have to. I don’t know anything about your stories--send me the list, and I’ll pick one for you.
*OR*
Writing regularly using prompts or exercises that are completely unrelated to my personal projects seems to help me keep the machinery working more smoothly. You might try a go at
no subject
Date: 2005-04-24 02:53 pm (UTC)I dunno if writing exercises are the way to go either. It's not the writing that's the problem, it's the focus. I can write like a mofo even when I'm blocked as hell, it's just that I am trying to finish something-anything, and so it's not helping.
Very frustrating!!