Writer's Block

I hate more than most things when I’m in a constructive, creative mood and I have absolutely no idea what to do with all this positive energy. I sit down to write, ready to let the words flow like they never have before. I think to myself I feel so creatively motivated to write that this time I’ll come up with something great. So, I open up a blank file in Word, poise my hands so my fingers hover daintily above the keyboard, I give my fingers the good old “it’s time to work now” flex and raise my eyes to the screen before me. The first thought that comes to mind is the weed that chokes my new-found enthusiasm into nothingness: What am I going to write about?

Damn that horrid party pooper. How ironic is it that when I’m at my majestic creative peak, I am simultaneously standing in the uncharted valley of my organizational low? I wish that for once I could find that middle ground where both phenomena could coexist.

Maybe my problem with writer’s block is that I let it get to me too fast. I hardly ever put up a fight when it hits me, and the times that I do I find I’m usually just fighting myself. Writers like Stephen King constantly insist that the trick to successful writing is to set yourself a timed writing block for each day. For example, Mr. King swears to writing for 10 solid minutes uninterrupted every morning, no matter what. I’m sure that Mr. King is very diligent in this matter; however I highly doubt that everyone who loves to write devotes that kind if time to it. Maybe that’s what separates the published writers from the unpublished. Maybe those lazy people like me never let themselves get “the big break.”

Now, I could sit here, basking in my newfound revelation, and tell you that I have affirmed my lazy way of life and that I will from now on devote ten minutes a day to writing. But I would be lying. Truth is, if I made that vow, I might keep up with it for a few days and I might even come up with some great story ideas. But the day would come where my normally pre-planned block of writing would be “postponed” so I could do something else, like watch Friends. Even if I did get back to it later that night, it would already be too late. The missile would already be launched. A few days down the road I would forget to write and would swear that I’d just tack it on to next day’s block, but I wouldn’t. And, chances are if I know myself at all, I wouldn’t put myself to the task for months down the road.

It really is sad how I let myself become distracted from the things I love to do. I mean, sure, I love to watch Friends, but I’ve never been proud of that. I cannot see myself ever saying, “Yes indeedio, that is the award I won for watching every single episode of Friends 25 times over. That’s my pride and joy right there.” But I was supremely stoked when Poetry.com named me as one of its finalists in a poetry competition, even though it’s a scam. I was both embarrassed and proud when one of my cousins’ friends read a rather steamy chapter from an old fanfic I wrote and testified, “There’s no way this chick could be a virgin!” I got goose bumps when Daniel Brinton’s stepmother said after our eighth grade spring festival that if he and I had shared a scene the stage would have exploded.

I am immensely proud of my accomplishments. Compliments are like a good drug to me. I can never get enough and I’m not ashamed to admit it. So why, then, if I have all this positive feedback and creative energy fuelling my ego and the desire to earn more and experience more and be more, do I always seem to pick up the remote instead?

A question for the ages.

Country music...

I've just realized recently that I really do like country music. I often get very annoyed by the ballads that follow the "Let's Make Them Cry Just For The Hell of It" format. That's why I hate Martina McBride's "Concrete Angel" -- nothing against her, mind you. I still love "Wrong Again" and her voice is exceptional.

I think my favorite artists, the ones that have brought on this revelation, are Toby Keith and Rascal Flatts. They have too many songs I love for me to concede that I enjoy the genre. There are also a few others I'll tolerate most of the time -- Shania Twain, Faith Hill, Lonestar, Tim McGraw, etc.

I have no idea why I felt this revelation was worth noting. Maybe one day, historians will look back at this post and document that this indeed was the day that Anna Younce decided she liked country music and her life was subsequently altered forever. I don't know. I'm tired. Strange things happen when you're tired.

Later,
Na



Currently Listening to:

Toby Keith ~ Unleashed

My first post ever...

Here is where I will post whatever the hell I want. This is my 4th attempted blog. I've mainly used Xanga for the last 3 years. I've decided to branch out and try this. Who knows what will come out? Maybe I'll come here to rant about stupid things. Maybe I'll talk about things I couldn't tell other people. Maybe I will channel incoming messages from the Big Giant Head. Who knows?

All I ask is that you bear with me. Good. Thanks.
~Me