Tag: frustration

Fourteen Reasons Why Writing Sucks and You Shouldn’t Do It

A high percentage of people think there’s a book in them. Many think there’s a novel, or a memoir or autobiography. They think they can and should write a book, but they never do.

Then there are idiots like me. We write books. We gleefully leap forward with pens and paper, typewriters, laptops and keyboards, issuing a battle cry, “A novel in a month! Ten thousand words a day! I can do it. I shall do it. Give me a cup of coffee and stand back.”

There are reasons you shouldn’t.

  1. Writing is solitary. Writing is solitary. WRITING IS SOLITARY.
  2. Writing requires a soldier’s discipline and courage, but there’s no one coaxing you to go on. Few will do much to encourage you. Sometimes they’ll ask, “Oh, are you still writing that book? What’s it about again?”
  3. There’s not much reward in writing. Yes, sometimes a word, sentence, paragraph or chapter will launch you beyond the stratosphere with its sheer brilliance. You’re so far off the ground when you’re walking that you’re looking down on others’ balding crowns. You don’t need crosswalks because you’re above it all.
  4. But the next day, that brilliant diamond has become a turgid stool. Taking your head in your hands, you rub your chin, jaw, cheeks, temples, forehead, trying to erase it from your mind and thinking, “That sucks.” Nobody argues with you because YOU ARE ALONE.
  5. Money in writing? Yes, I received my royalty payments this week. Should I buy a cup of coffee or a candy bar?
  6. Writing is hard on your body. You need to stick your ass into a seat and hold it pressed there for hours as your buttocks slowly numb. Don’t think about what it’s doing to your circulation and muscle tone. Your hands cramp from clutching a pen and scribbling, or from moving a mouse and clicking as you copy and paste or highlight and delete. Or carpal tunnel syndrome inflames your hands, but you push on, writing, typing, whatever.
  7. The pursuit of writing can destroy your psyche and social life. Every spoken word heard, sights seen, glances exchanged, sulks, stumbles, confessions, cries and hugs trigger a sentence, scene, insight. The writer within you sucks you out of the moment and into their space. Others’ joys, triumphs, tragedies, deformities, abnormalities, accomplishment, history, hopes and betrayals burrow into your writing mind and festers with a new story arc, plot twist or character.
  8. Perhaps the worst aspect of writing is how addictive it is. Exploring lives, stories, tales, situations, and scenes infuse powerful highs. It’s mesmerizing to wonder who, what, how, why, when, and piece letters into words into sentences into paragraphs into moments into stories into novels.
  9. Writing requires unending segments of deep thought to consider all the things going into your work in progress. That thinking never ends, distracting you from life enveloping you. You awaken in surprise to discover the yard needs work, you need a haircut, it’s September, three fourths of the year gone, a new season upon us, the tsunami of the holiday season and year’s end climbing over you.
  10. It’s hard to quit.

These only apply to me, of course. Other writers don’t have these problems. Their thoughts are light as they type, and when they’re finished for the day, they stand and stretch, and go out hiking, dancing, singing, gardening, whatever. They have a solid, engaging life beyond the typing page.

I listed fourteen as the title because it sounded good, but I only have ten, the ten that count for me, the ten that really don’t matter at all. If you’re a writer, you can probably come up with four more. I would, but I need to go write.

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Reading Writers’ Blogs

All the world’s events have upsides and down, depending on your framing mood and which glasses you put on. Even sunrise can suck, as it counts down to a personal Armageddon, something bothering you alone.

Reading writers’ blogs reinforces the ups and downs of trying to write, publish and sell, but also shows the humanity behind writers. They’re revealed not to be just mad typists and scribblers, but beer and coffee connoisseurs, sports freaks and political junkies. It’s fun learning these things about them and discovering you have something in common with them (hey, Louise Erdrich likes drinking water, too!)

Upsides include great references to novels, short stories, poetry and information about writing and publishing. I often encounter intelligent, stunning writing from unknown writers.

Downsides include grimace inducing, clumsy writing.

Upsides – revelations about what not to do.

Downsides – realizations that damn it, I do that.

Big downside, too, is that I’m competing in some sense, because only so much can be read, with brilliant, intelligent, inventive, clever writers with skills that humble me.

Definite upside, no matter what level of writing I’m achieving, the discovery that a whole world of writers work in much the same esoteric and secret way of other endeavors, like pro sports, banking, software programming, name it, and recognizing I’m part of that world. Often hardest about writing is the lack of validation of my work. Nobody wants it and nobody reads it. It’s not necessarily crap, but it’s not easily accessible. I think weirdly so I write weirdly. Writers’ blogs remind me that this isn’t unusual, burning off some of my personal loneliness and frustration.

Writers’ blogs help me hope for that big breakthrough. They remind me how long it took Ursula LeGuin, JK Rowlings, Andy Weir, Lisa Genova, Stephen King, John Scalzi, Kathryn Stockett, Theodore Giesel, and others, to achieve their success. Their secret was that they kept writing. Their efforts, and success, inspire me.

I don’t know where I stand on the true spectrum of writing skills and talents, but I’m also not certain how much that matters. But, although I’m a seriously suspect Space Cadet, I will continue writing and trying to find my audience.

Because that’s what reading writers’ blogs tell me to do.

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MG6

 

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My new version, Michael Gen 6, has been released to exciting reviews. Lighter, leaner, more mellow, here are some product highlights.

1. Computer issues plagued Michael G5, triggering blood pressure increases and often fracturing his calm. With the computers temporarily shelved, MG6 is a more mellow, tolerant and jovial person.

2. Carrying an iPad mini 4 and 100 sheet composition book and pen is much easier than trucking the computer in the bag with whatever support gear and accessories were packed. Losing them means MG6 weighs 15 pounds less than MG5. The lighter load has unexpected collaterals ramification. Packing less weight has resulted in MG6 having greater energy over MG5. The enhanced energy levels are being proven with increased optimism, exercise and activity levels.

3. With less frustration and irritation exhausting him, MG6 sleeps better and awakens with a greater life zest. MG6 has even planned a coast vacation.

4. Writing in a notebook with a pen has bounced MG6 to a higher creative cycle. More primitive and elemental, rawer, torrents of words pour out, although there is a shortcoming with this output, as it still requires typing.

5. As MG6 is less stressed than the previous version, less comfort food and drink are consumed. Money is saved and body weight has been reduced.

Some things didn’t change with MG6. He still answers the cats’ purrs, cries, meows, paw swipes, head butts and rub bys, doing whatever they order, from feeding to treats to catnip to extended petting sessions as they roll around, and offering a lap for napping when demanded.

MG6 still obtains most calories from organic food, having a wonderful grilled vegetable quesadilla with guac, salsa, and sour cream for dinner last night, with additional input coming via beer, in this case, a shandy of lemonade and Ashland Amber.

And though it’s a notebook, and the result isn’t tidy, MG6 still drinks quad shot mochas and writes like crazy.

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Just More

I figure I should rename this blog to Just More BS, because it’s all just about me, baby.

Three days I’ve not written. I feel like those cat satires, whereby felines record how their captors taunt them while keeping them imprisoned. Oh, such a miserable life.

Life is not at all mis for me now. I’m rising, again, but will set again. I’m a creature of cycles and spectrums. But while I’m up —

I recognized stages today, of coping with not having my computer, and not being able to write like crazy each day, and of being limited to writing on the butcher roll paper of my mind. I complained (fuck!) and whined (why me, universe, didn’t you always tell me I’m the chosen), and then accepted (okay, I can do this, I will do this). (Clarification, I’m creating blog posts on the iPad mini 4. I’ve managed to miniaturize my hands so I don’t feel like the Jolly Green typing on a Selectric but I worry about enduring the rest of my Earthly existence with tiny hands. Yes, I’m a handist.)

Yesterday afternoon, tho’, whilst grilling veggies, I speculated, can I go back to writing in a paper notebook? Challenges and obstacles rose through the mists of hope. My writing is organic. I’m like a kid jumping through and around puddles of scenes, plot setting, and characters. I wouldn’t be able to do this, and I didn’t print out the works in progress. Still, I convinced myself I can write some scenes and insert, edit and polish them after the Computer Returns.

Pondering this, I grew hopeful. This morning, I considered, maybe I can just write a short story, hey, hey?

Sure. Whatever. Deciding I needed to write and was going to write, I found an almost blank notebook. The few written pages were perused. Ah, a draft of a performance report, I recognized. They were part of the structure of a past existence and have been banished to the admin vortex where they belong. Tear them out!

Now the notebook is blank and ready. Short story or novel, and which novel, Long Summer (sequel to Returnee) or Personal Lessons with Savanna (third book in the mystery series)?

I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. I’m in my coffee shop office. I have my quad shot mocha and a pen at hand. Because, when I summarize what I want, what I do, and who I am, I want to write, and I write. To not write is to give up. Why should I assume this will not work out? Perhaps this change will inspire a new spring of creativity. Maybe this is a reboot, Michael G6.

Yeah, that’s all words, justification, rationalization, clarification. I just want to write like crazy. Time to do it, at least one more time.

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I’m Fine

I’m fine

Just countin days till I die

Tryin to dredge up a will to survive

veggin on tv scenes

I’m fine

Wishin death would come

Permittin me to end this run

sleepin with my eyes open

I’m fine

Talkin to my machines

Because they’re the only ones who seem to seem

to care about what I say

 

So when you ask how r u? 🙂

I don’t care if you smile and walk away

Bcuz we both know what I’ll say

 

I’m fine

 

Words from the the spectrum’s dark side

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Sliding

I’m sliding along the spectrum of emotions today. The spectrum itself is on a fulcrum. The slightest shift tips it sliding one way or the other.

Some are wild slides. I slip from depression to elation to bitterness and frustration, zing zing zing. Exhausting, but I’m older, experienced in my mind and body’s ways, and have some sense this will pass. Last night and the early morning both had me sliding toward the spectrum’s darker end. Self-pity and regret stifled my breathing. Reading helped me out.

I’ve not been reading much, I thought, then corrected, I’ve been reading non-fiction and news, but not fiction. So I retreated into The Signature of All Things. I started reading it a month ago. I added new books to my tower of reading and realized I needed to finish Signature before permitting new reading. A book of a woman reaching understanding of herself and heartbreak, the novel enabled some quiet reflection and delivered new insights into me and my existence.

I believe this mood will pass, recognizing it for one of the more prolonged types of funks that sometimes shroud me. They’ve always passed before, prompting speculation about what sort of guarantees that provide (none), but it does give some expectations, and helps me stay upright as I slide along.

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Not Unimaginable

‘UNIMAGINABLE’

The newspaper headline is about the Orlando mass murder in a night club. Fifty people are dead, killed by one person with an automatic weapon designed and manufactured to kill people in mass. It’s disgusting that they print that this is ‘unimaginable’.  The proper headline is ‘INEVITABLE’. 

Inhabitants of most of the modern world expected another mass murder record in the United States, another high count of victims gunned down by someone out to make a statement, someone who believes violence is the answer. If you carry that logic further, then you might think, more violence is a better answer. That’s apparently the NRA’s solution. More guns and more violence, and we’ll all be better.

It’s bullshit, but it’s not unimaginable. It was a matter of time. As racing cars go faster, as the wealthiest become wealthier, so will there be more and larger mass killings with automatic weapons in the United States. Why not? What policies have changed that would circumvent new bloody records from being set?

I’m a fiction writer. I can imagine killing and being a mass killer without actually being a killer, but just by being a cold, hard thinker. Learn from what other mass killers have done. Study the lessons learned. Decide on your course of action and put regrets aside. Segregate and compartmentalize your emotions. Rationalize your decision. Deal with the ramifications that you are going to kill and you will probably die. Pick your location, select your weapons, load up, block doors if you can, and go in and indiscriminately kill.

The headlines should be ‘SICKENING’. ‘DISGUSTING’. ‘REVOLTING’. ‘HEARTBREAKING’.

But never unimaginable, because, without making changes — and America is loathe to make changes about gun laws and automatic weapons, because there’s too much fear and profit in them, too much fraudulent machismo, too much shallow bravado and thin patriotism — more headlines  about mass killings will be published.

Unimaginable? No, the bar has been raised, 50 dead at this count, more critically wounded. Unimaginable? No, this will be another event that we’ll look back upon when the count goes higher again, another glance back to mourn the dead and increasing violence, all without doing a damn thing.

That’s what’s really ‘UNIMAGINABLE’.

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The Balance

My cycles ebb and flow, pushing my moods, diluting my motivation, diverting my willpower.

I seek the balance. It’s not sufficient to state what I won’t be. Nor is it great enough to say what I will be. There’s the balance of each, what I won’t be and what I am not, what I am and what I will be. Reassurances, tiny ego strokes.

Sometimes, when seeking the balance, bitterness, weariness, frustration, anger, despair, or many other negative energies, rise up like a revolting population. My fingers grow heavy just typing. Sometimes just thinking of those negative energies lash me with aches and make me tired. I want to curl up and sleep, or go have a drink and forget it all.

I know neither works. If I sleep when such darkness comes, I’ll wake up more tired and sour. Drinking under the influence of darkness leads to obnoxious, sneering drunkeness, shameful and pathetic.

So I seek the balance. White, male, decently intelligent and attractive, living on a military pension, with all the ‘good things’ people want, like a house and a car and no bills, I have enjoyed and still enjoy a comfortable life. Yet there are days when it feels like colossal wheels roll over me. I’m part of the pavement and they just keep coming, crushing me. That’s emotion, and has nothing to do with logic. But I try to treat it logically.

Or I used to. I rarely succumb to that urge any more. I sit and bare it, reminding myself, breath in…release.

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