Tag: writing like crazy

The Writing Moment

The best part of writing is when he’s so deeply involved with the work in progress that he goes to sleep thinking about it and awakens with it in his mind. Details inundate him in a joyous way. Reading anything, but especially fiction, is challenging. It feels like everything that he reads drives new insights about what to write.

This is also the worst thing about the writing life because all his energy and attention is directed toward his writing. Others find him unable to engage with them, making him appear absent-minded and anti-social. The truth can’t be explained. Only those wholly absorbed by what they do will understand.

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The Writing Moment

His fingers dance and skate across the keyboard. He talks with the characters, stares at far scenes until focus is found, laughs at a surprising turn. He turns his head, listening for what’s being said, rolling with the tension. Quarreling with the muses, he devotes fierce time trying to tie the story’s ends together and grasp what’s to happen next, hunting for the button that will make it all make sense.

The he stops, stretching his arms, deeply inhaling, blinking his eyes, working out back kinks, shifting so blood can find a way through his ass, and gawks at the coffee shop around him. He swears it was full before.

Now he writes alone.

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The Writing Moment

Two writing moments which he really enjoyed happened today. One was a stimulating story idea. It landed without any warning in his head, blowing his mind in multiple ways. Excited, he wrote it up. Something to do later. Ideas for novels and stories were always landing but this one felt really special. He didn’t want to forget it.

The second moment came as he wrote in the novel in progress. His character’s situation and the character’s thinking resulted in a sentence which made him laugh out loud at the coffee shop table.

Yes, it was a fun writing day. Cold and wet, with rain turning to snow and back again, but terrific fun. Coffee done, it was time to shut down the writing like crazy for the day.

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The Writing Moment

Coffee in hand, he was ready to write like crazy one more time. That initial moment when he was about to begin to write was the best for him. The session could be great or mediocre. (Is there such a thing as a horrible writing session?) In that way, his sessions were something out of Schrödinger’s thinking: it might be good, it might be bad. Its dual state existed until the session was done.

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The Writing Moment

Writing has been a struggle. Taking care of Mom means that I give her first priority. My time and thinking keeps getting fragmented. Also, I’ve been on meds to eliminate my cough. As it’s almost gone, I quit the meds. Looking at the bottle, I saw that it can cause drowsiness and dizziness.

Lightning struck. The meds were dulling my thinking. That was behind my writing struggles. I immediately said, no more meds, and it was like a curtain was pulled back.

Time to write like crazy, at least once more.

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The Writing Moment

“Foul,” the brain cried. “What are we doing up so early?”

His coffee-depleted mouth struggled to respond. “It’s the muses.”

“Them.” The brain scowled. “I can do without… What now?”

“They cracked the whip. Said he had to get up early and make time to write.”

“Write.” The brain snorted. “What a waste. Go back to bed.”

“Too late,” the heart said. “We’ve already had coffee. We’re up now.”

The brain sighed. “Well, I guess it’s time to write like crazy, again, innit?”

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The Writing Moment

She sidled in, cool eyes caressing me, mystery floating around her like a cloud of perfume. Sitting, the muse crossed her legs, an orchestra of graceful and deliberate, unhurried motion. No wasted notes, nothing extraneous. “You ready to do this?”

I nod, bewitched by her voice.

Black diamond eyes sparkling, her pale smile shifts with quicksilver fluidity. “Then begin.”

The muse can be so seductive. After nodding again, I started writing like crazy one more time.

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The Writing Moment

A paragraph of muses arrives. (Maybe it should be a page of muses, or a book (a tome?) of muses.)

Writing begins. The story soon rises from the mind’s mists.

Sticky writing becomes prominent, exhausting and intense. Sticky writing, the condition where the ‘normal’ world – the real world – seems unreal and distant, even artificial and alien, because what’s being created in the writing sticks to your mind. Real world observations and interactions are colored, distorted, and isolated by the writing in progress. The writing effort pushes the real world out.

Becoming part of the RW again was going to challenge his mind. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to be part of it. What choice was there? It was real life, not the made-up world of his book.

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