Writer's Blah

I've got a major case of writer's blah. Not block, mind you. Blah.

The words are there. I'm just blah about it. I've been working on a book a couple years now. Yes, years. Don't judge me. I'm on the third rewrite. Once I finish this one, it will be editing run throughs. I could be done by the end of the summer. Unfortunately, I don't care. I've taken so long in writing it that I kinda want to sneak up behind all my characters and push them off a cliff starting with my protagonist.

   Her body buckled, pushed by some unseen force. She fell. The rocks echoed her final shriek. 
   She clawed at the surrounding rush of wind. The red locks on her head waved like fire in its slipstream as her body tumbled headlong. Her limbs twisted and whipped like a knotted rag until her flesh met the ground with a slap. The life left within her exploded upward in a shock of crimson.
   The writer smiled. It was done. She was free, free at last. Free to walk unfettered, unburdened, and guiltless, taking as long as she wanted in Target.


I'm well aware there are writers out there far busier than me writing more than a thousand words a day. They get up early. They stay up late. They sign contract after contract and wear the name writer well. They are legit. Too legit to quit.

Then there's me. I kinda write. I've finished the one book - that I seriously need to pull from circulation and revisit. I write for a local magazine all along. I blog. These aren't terribly impressive credentials. Oh yeah, I'm in an anthology of short stories too. Forgot that one. And, I interview writers monthly on a blog radio show but I'm pretty sure that doesn't make me a writer any more than sitting on my couch makes me a furniture model. 

I have ideas. Funny ones. Good ones. So funny and good in fact that I will not mention them here for fear they will be stolen. And, they would be, I feel certain. Probably by ISIS. That would be their most ingenious and devious plot: distract the West with literary entertainment and sneak up on us unawares.

"Mr. President, how did you not see this invasion coming?" "Well, I had this book, see, and (insert POTUS chuckle) it's really, really good..."

But, as it is, I am still slogging through this one book, the first of a series of three mind you, and I'm so sick of it. Oh man, I can't even begin to tell you. I don't have a contract on it which is actually good because I'm not under a deadline. And,  yet, I have people waiting on it, agents and publishers who like me, who have let me rush through the publication process. There's normally this whole long dance of sending a query, then sending a synopsis, then sending the manuscript...  I got to skip some of that and I'm thankful. 

I have the time to finish the thing, I'm just not. I'm cleaning, taking care of my family, doing Brazilian Jiujitsu (hereafter referred to as BJJ, an abbreviation which, at first glance, gives pause) and Muay Thai style kickboxing. (Although, our instructor is Mexican so maybe it's Muy Thai - that's not racist 'cause it's not negative and I used to teach Spanish. So, yeah.) Those last two, I wish I could do more of without feeling guilty, (the first two I wish I could do less of without feeling guilty) without knowing I need to get home and write. It's like an albatross around my neck. But worse. If you have a huge, 25lb, dead bird around your neck, nobody will wonder why you haven't finished writing your book. Obviously, you can't, what with the dead bird and all. 

If I wanted it done, darn it, I'd finish it. I guess, I just don't care. Why don't I care any more? Why have I lost my mojo? These aren't rhetorical questions, I really want  you to tell me. And, after you do, please tell me what to do to get it back. Tell me how to want to finish this thing. I've been told to take a break from it. But, all I'm doing is breaking from it. Seriously, I write maybe 3000 words a week. That is pittance, people. Pittance! Tosca Lee? You know her? The NYT best selling author? I know this woman. She's an actual, carbon based life-form (for the record, I've yet to see the medical documentation on that) who eats and sleeps and she can write 10k words in a day and not just because she's Asian and has an inborn, radioactive drive to succeed! (That's not racist 'cause it's positive. Is it racist to say a group of people is awesome? No, it's not.) But, she's only half Asian! The rest of her is as white bread as me so, obviously, I could be writing more. At least 5k a day! (I'll give her the extra 5k because she is, after all, half Korean. Again, not racist, 'cause, it's positive and Korean food is my favorite.)

I can't take a break from writing as a whole. I have to keep at it for the sake of skill. Use it or lose it sort of thing. So, do I work on other stuff, blog, text with abandon? What? Tell me! Tell me, I say! And, "quit worrying over it," ain't an option. That's like telling a cat to quit being self absorbed. 

I'm waiting...

Ok, well, until you, reader - who may not be a writer, chances are you aren't - until you solve my writing issues, I'm just

Added this because it's just my favorite
picture ever.

going to fly in a holding pattern. I'll write here and there.  Again, this isn't an issue of being discouraged. I'm pretty good with pumping myself up on things. It's a matter of pure old apathy which, I think, is far more corrosive than discouragement. And, I'm not reading much either if that's a symptom of note. 

Maybe I'm just burnt out. I'm not even wild to do BJJ (made you pause, didn't it) or kb. Ugh. And, it's the end of the school year. My kids are about to be home everyday. All day. Swarming and eating everything in sight like locusts. I love them. But, I also want to pack a sandwich and a pair of clean underwear in a Ziploc bag (same bag 'cause the underwear are clean) and run away. 

So, I leave it in your hands, folks. Fix me.

Apathetically yours...I guess...