This is my second post today, which is usually a sign that things aren’t going well. I’ve been writing, or trying to write, anyway, for the last few days, but its been like moving through overcooked oatmeal. And just about as delectable.
I’m frustrated because I don’t feel I have the skills to write how and what I want, because everything takes so much bloody time, because rewriting is like pulling teeth. I’ve lost sight of what feels right and of what I think constitutes good writing. I feel as if my hands are deformed, pawing at the keyboard so that the words that I intend to write aren’t the words that end up on the page, and I can’t seem to change them. I’ve tried writing in different genres, taking on a new project, or even writing in a completely different voice and style. But I can’t look beyond the triteness of my writing, my tired, insipid characters. I’m beginning to feel like one of them, trapped somewhere between concept and reality.
Maybe I need a break. Maybe I need a job. I could do with one of those. Oh yeah, and throw in a life-affirming experience too, while you’re at it, because I could definitely use one of those.
And still I plug away, trying very hard not to look back, and even harder not to look forward.