I’m tired of
saying that I have writer’s block. It’s getting to be cliché (shut up. I know
that it already is an actual cliché), even for me. Plus, it’s not so much of a
block as it is a case of writer’s lethargy. Perhaps some writer’s bloating, or
maybe cramps. I have writer’s cramps.
Crap. So, I
have writer’s PMS. Well, in all honesty, that’s more like it. I’m cranky and
irritable and craving chocolate and have nothing coming to mind to write about.
And I’m restless. I have writer’s restlessness. Maybe that’s it.
If you haven’t
noticed, this blog has suffered (only slightly) and I’m stuck on chapter four
transitions for the book I’m currently writing (shh! Don’t tell anyone! It’s
the secret book!), and there’s only one thing that can be done to get me out of
this mess.
Other than
gorging myself of chocolate thin mint cookies and watching Love, Actually.
So let me
tell you what I do to get myself out of a slump, in case you missed it before. I read. Voraciously.
This is what
I read this week:
 |
| In anticipation of the movie, of course! |
 |
| I read this in one day and laughed out loud! |
 |
| Ugh. It's the freaking Odyssey, people! |
Okay, so I didn’t
actually read Ulysses, but it’s not
for lack of trying. Several years ago, in a fit of curiosity, I bought Joyce’s Dubliners and also Ulysses. A literature professor I worked with at the time chuckled
when he saw what I had bought, and told me that my Joyce education would be
better served if I began and ended it with the Dubliners. He told me that I wouldn’t like Ulysses. As I often do, I took this to mean that he didn’t think I
could read Joyce, except in exceptionally small and mundane amounts (so she
carried a cake on the streetcar, Joyce, I get it, okay?) and then made it a
personal challenge to make my way through Ulysses—by
force, if I had to.
This is a
challenge that I have now failed three times. I despise the book. I wasn’t a
fan of the Dubliners, either (if you
couldn’t tell), but Ulysses reminds
me of a weather-greyed, abandoned industrial building on the wrong side of
town. Plus, I already know how it’s going to end. So, I’ve never been able to
move myself more than fifty pages into the damn book—and I like to blame Joyce
as an author who just is not capable of making me care.
In other
words, he’s no Jenny Lawson (I like humorists). And I think I’ve now made
myself a pariah in literary circles.
The
voracious reading does help, however, it seems to unclog the thoughts in my
mind and get things flowing again. Years ago, I was almost afraid to read when I
was in a slump—I worried that I would somehow fall into the author’s voice,
since my own seemed to be on hiatus. Now I’m no longer afraid of this; I’ve
come to realize that that it doesn’t quite work that way.
So, I read,
voraciously, and I write down my thoughts, and I watch cable movies while
munching on Girl Scout cookies. Until the writing PMS passes. In usually about
three to four days.
And then I write
you rambling blog posts with no point.
What do you
do to combat the writer’s block?
The idea of writing PMS made me laugh out loud. I totally know what you mean!
ReplyDeleteI know that the wisdom with writer's block is to keep on writing even when you think you can't, but that's never worked for me. Instead I just take a break and sooner or later (usually sooner), I find I have something I want to write about.
I loved Ulysses, by the way, and think James Joyce is way funnier than the Bloggess, but I'm willing to overlook this difference between us if you are. :)
We can certainly agree to disagree on the topic of Joyce! I have a close friend who loves Joyce as well, and we just never talk of it!
DeleteYet, it is always fascinating to me how individuals (like my friend and myself) who have so much in common, have such different taste in books! or movies, or music, for that matter. I love it-- because it is sure to inspire lots of interesting conversation!