Writing Prompts Again

I have collected more than a baker’s dozen of writing prompts through the years.  They have been collected on the hope that they would help a story develop, or contribute to characters’ depth, and three dimensional build-up.

Yet for the most part they have languished in files, folders, binders, and notebooks.  They have collected dust, and tears. They have served as a reminder that I have put off today what I should have done.

Plans have been made, regarding these collected prompts.  Great plans.  The best plans.  I have taken them to coffee shops, and workshops, and libraries.  When it comes time to put to use, I find some other activity to engage in, usually sexting, or reading blogs.  This in turn leads to frustration, and depression and anger.  But I fail to scold myself for not following through.

This particular plan of using the prompts as blog posts has been a dream in waiting for at least 3 years. Why wait so long?  There is no one answer.  Most I am ashamed to admit to, i.e. depression, work, the ease and comfort of the chair which is planted in front of the T.V. Obsessive compulsion to watch said T.V.  Various bad habits I have fallen into-sexting, porn, nervous eating, anxiousness when it comes to writing.  I get up, walk into the kitchen, open the refrigerator, mindlessly root around for something that is tasty.  That something is usually unhealthy.  So, I debate myself on consuming it now, or when I return in 20 minutes.  Or debate whether to eat half, or to eat the unhealthy option now and only eat healthy options the rest of the day.  Sometimes, I can shut the fridge before I grab any food.  But more often than not the battle is lost.  There is no real hunger.  It is anxious hunger.  My mind is worried about all the terrible things the wider world will surely say about what I write.  What I will write.  What I have written.  Therefore whatever foolishness I have planned to write using these collected prompts will surely cause me pain.

But what if the pain of not doing it, becomes greater than the pain of avoidance?

I feel that is where I am.  This place, where the pain of not following through on this plan is greater than the pain of skipping it, sucks.  I can’t stand it.  I hate rolling in a blanket of depression on the bed.  I hate not being able to propel myself out of this blanket.  I hate being able to get up and go to work for someone else, but can’t gather the strength to work for myself.

Oh the frustration.

I am attempting to say enough.  I don’t know how long my strength will last in this endeavor.  Nor if I have the strength to break this cycle, to shred the blanket of depression.

All I know is that today the pain of not trying is greater than the pain of avoidance.

And so I begin.  Ever so slowly, I begin.

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Creative Blocks-I Feel Them Part II

To unblock myself I took up the challenge of writing one blog post a day for a write.  I found 365 prompts on the web.  I was doing pretty well.  Then I ran into Team Melissa and that whole debacle-I will write more on this in another post.  I didn’t post for about 2 months.  Now that I am free of Team Melissa I have taken up the challenge again.

While it may be put aside if I go to summer school in England-I know myself and get caught up in new adventures and hanging out at Cambridge would be so cool, for now it is a priority.

Often as I write I am dissatisfied with the output-not the quantity but the quality.  So, I get up and walk away disgusted.  I attempt to write on another project, but the results are almost always the same.  I have been working to turn this to an advantage.

Instead of keeping at the piece until I ready to throw it in the trash, I stop as soon as I begin to grow frustrated.  I try to jump into another piece I have been working on.  I work on that until the frustration builds and move again.  So far it hasn’t been as cathartic as I hoped.  But it keeps me moving which is something, even if the movement is more sideways than forward.

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Creative Blocks-I Feel Them

I often feel blocked.  Not because I do not have the words, but because I am sure where to begin, or what to do when I finish.  What it is not any good?  What if it is hackneyed and craptastic writing?  How do I develop characters, so they are not card board cutouts?  How do I write sharper dialogue and more concise descriptions?  How do I get what I envision in my head unto the page?

The writing never seems good enough once I begin.  I fret over its inadequacies and push it away.  I move on to other projects.  Yet the questions remain.  Soon I grow anxious.  When I get anxious I eat.  I have struggled with this for years.  I can’t control or stop the eating.  I have taken to working with it.  I buy fruits and salads and give myself permission to eat them.  Of course I eat it all.  As a consequence I feel guilty for lack of self control.  I eat when I feel guilty too. (On the plus side I work in restaurants and my constant eating has lead to the creation of some wonderful foods).

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