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lagilmanPeanut butter chips for breakfast seemed like a good idea when I woke up craving sugar.... but then I balanced it out with a homemade nonfat yogurt strawberry-banana smoothie. So that's okay, right?
Despite the meh yesterday overall, I still managed to get in about 1000 new words, and we're reaching a Turning Point. Yay. And there was Attempted Violence. And angst. Poor Bonnie. Life after college is just no fun at all. And then I did more words this morning, and then went off to do Away From Keyboard things, including having lunch with![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kradical during which we bitched about how slow our respective work is coming, and then parted to go hammer out More Words. Isn't it so exciting?
There's the thing about writing being a job that you don't realize until you're actually in The Life: sometimes it's just as crap as any other brain-eating job. The plot isn't making sense, the characters aren't behaving, you hate everything you type and sometimes even when everything's flowing, you just don't feel it.
This is where storytelling differs from Fine Art. We can't wait for inspiration to strike. When it's your job -- be it your sole job or side job -- you don't have that option. There are deadlines, and production schedules, and a carefully arranged publication master plan that, when one author delivers late, or defaults, has to be reworked madly to keep the system intact [some day I may do a post about that, dredging up all my scheduling horror stories from The Old Days.... any interest?]
So anyway, even on the meh days, the ones where you just want to crawl back into bed, or play tetris all day, or photocopy your posterior.... the writing still calls. The job still has to get done. (Of course, there is still time to play tetris. Or take a nap. Or, y'know, photocopy your posterior if that's what warms your cockles. Just don't let the boss see you.) We're the same as any other clock-watching office-dweller, in that regard. It's sort of comforting to think about: from my point of view, anyway. Some of you may now be depressed at how unglamorous and drudging alleged 'freedom' can be....
This, by the way, isn't a rant or a whinge. I knew the job was a job when I took it, and I'd honestly be damned uncomfortable [and remarkably unproductive] as an Artiste. Just commenting on the mehness of this week, and how I'm getting through it, one word at a time.
And I just got to use "truthiness" in dialogue. Go me! Suddenly, it starts to click again. 1400 words and rolling....
If I can hit 2,000+ [and, really, even if I don't] there is chicken pizza in the kitchen, waiting for me to add roasted garlic and fresh rosemary to it for dinner, and a bottle of chianti that really does need to be consumed. The week is definitely ending on an up note with that, yeah. :-)
Despite the meh yesterday overall, I still managed to get in about 1000 new words, and we're reaching a Turning Point. Yay. And there was Attempted Violence. And angst. Poor Bonnie. Life after college is just no fun at all. And then I did more words this morning, and then went off to do Away From Keyboard things, including having lunch with
kradical during which we bitched about how slow our respective work is coming, and then parted to go hammer out More Words. Isn't it so exciting?There's the thing about writing being a job that you don't realize until you're actually in The Life: sometimes it's just as crap as any other brain-eating job. The plot isn't making sense, the characters aren't behaving, you hate everything you type and sometimes even when everything's flowing, you just don't feel it.
This is where storytelling differs from Fine Art. We can't wait for inspiration to strike. When it's your job -- be it your sole job or side job -- you don't have that option. There are deadlines, and production schedules, and a carefully arranged publication master plan that, when one author delivers late, or defaults, has to be reworked madly to keep the system intact [some day I may do a post about that, dredging up all my scheduling horror stories from The Old Days.... any interest?]
So anyway, even on the meh days, the ones where you just want to crawl back into bed, or play tetris all day, or photocopy your posterior.... the writing still calls. The job still has to get done. (Of course, there is still time to play tetris. Or take a nap. Or, y'know, photocopy your posterior if that's what warms your cockles. Just don't let the boss see you.) We're the same as any other clock-watching office-dweller, in that regard. It's sort of comforting to think about: from my point of view, anyway. Some of you may now be depressed at how unglamorous and drudging alleged 'freedom' can be....
This, by the way, isn't a rant or a whinge. I knew the job was a job when I took it, and I'd honestly be damned uncomfortable [and remarkably unproductive] as an Artiste. Just commenting on the mehness of this week, and how I'm getting through it, one word at a time.
And I just got to use "truthiness" in dialogue. Go me! Suddenly, it starts to click again. 1400 words and rolling....
If I can hit 2,000+ [and, really, even if I don't] there is chicken pizza in the kitchen, waiting for me to add roasted garlic and fresh rosemary to it for dinner, and a bottle of chianti that really does need to be consumed. The week is definitely ending on an up note with that, yeah. :-)
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Date: 2009-02-21 07:34 pm (UTC)That reminds me of a powerful Erma Bombeck essay, a letter written from the point of view of an adoptive mother to the biological mother, about being a real mother. " 'Real is what hears 'I hate you' and still says no. Real is sitting next to a hospital bed... Real is what shows up every day.' "
If you want to be a real anything...showing up every day is what you do. Even if the best you can muster that day is a few minutes of crap. You still have to at least show up. Love is showing up every day.
And I admit, I'm still trying to show up consistently every day. I'm getting there. One piece of writing. One sketch. But at the moment? It's still crap.