Writing

Back to the Ol’ Grindstone

Chris 2 Comments

 

After a few bouts of severe depression (worst its been in a loooooong time), some roommate troubles (which may or may not be related to said depression), a week of vacation time, and more than a few false starts, I’m happy to say I’m back to writing. Which will hopefully include updating this blog.

Right now, since it’s 10:30pm as I’m working on this and I get up for work every day at 5:45am or earlier, I don’t have time for much. I might try smaller blog posts in general, so some feedback on content is always appreciated in the comments.

Tonight, I started thinking about what it’d be like to be a professional writer. Typically, I think about this in terms of having more time to dedicate to my craft every day. I think of how awesome it would be to never again sacrifice sleep to get anything done and how great it’d feel to get into an exercise routine I could keep up while writing. Right now, writing and proper exercise don’t mix too well since writing requires sleeping less and exercise requires sleeping more.

No, tonight I was thinking about whether or not I’d be able to write candles off as a business expense on a tax return. I like to work at night in as dim lighting as possible. I’ve tried a variety of programs to dim/change the light on my monitors (f.lux is my favorite since it cuts down on the headaches I get from looking at a computer screen too much), but eventually I always feel like I am getting stabbed in the eyes if I work in pitch darkness. I hate fluorescent lighting with an undying passion and haven’t found a dim incandescent light bulb I like, so I tend to lean toward candles.

Candles 6152017

Looks nice, yeah? WAY better than light bulbs.

Unfortunately, light bulbs are WAY cheaper than candles. I’ve yet to find a good deal on bulk pillar candles (tapers aren’t worth the bother), so that means occasionally going to target and dropping $50+ on candles I can only really expect to last a month of writing sessions. At most. And those are just plain, white, unscented candles. If I actually wanted them to smell like anything, that price could easily double.

When you’re living on a budget that’s kept tight for maximum student loan payment, its REALLY hard to justify $50 in candles. It’d be way easier to justify if I got something back for them when it came to filing my taxes.

This may be a problem that’ll only need an answer when I’m a successful novelist and, since I’ll likely have the money (and eccentricity) to just circumvent the entire issue by making my own candles, the answer is likely to be irrelevant by the time I’ve got it. Keeping bees has always sounded like fun to me. It’d give me something to do when I can’t write. Then, when I’m trying to sell a book to a publisher, I can advertise my “honeyed words” and laugh my ass off when I mail a manuscript whose pages are stuck together using the other by-product of bee-keepership.

 

Hike Up Your Pants and Climb

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Every time I sit down to write, I’m reminded of the mountain I’ve got to climb to reach any of my goals. Publish a book. Make enough money to live off my writing. Update my blog 3 or more times a week for a year (haha, right??? I can’t even do this for a week). All of these things require a huge commitment from me in not only time, but in energy and self.

Every time I want to write I have to marshal my thoughts and set aside whatever else has occupied my day. I have to stop thinking about bills, student loans, doing laundry, trying to find a date, and whatever pointless bit of minutiae my anxiety has fixed on. Then, as soon as that’s done, I need to collect my thoughts about whatever project I want to work on. After that, there’s the constant need to spend a decent amount of energy keeping those thoughts collected and the incessant report of my anxieties knocking against my defenses, trying to worm their way back in. The act of writing itself takes a part of me that I keep from the world the rest of the time and puts it somewhere I INTEND people to see, so it can be difficult to do with the kind of confidence needed to actually do more than make a half-assed attempt.

Even when it was easier, when I was writing every day, there was never what you could call an “easy” day. I may have had an easier time getting myself to sit down and do it, but it was never easy to actually do. I’ve spent a huge amount of time thinking and writing about the difficulties associated with writing. I’m always interested in reading what other writers have written about the act of writing. I’ve got a whole sub-classification of my poetry that is specifically about my difficulties in writing or how often I feel like none of the words I produce are the right ones. I’ve got a whole blog that is currently themed after the concept of struggling to find and use my words with undertones of how much I struggle to actually do it.

I’m pretty well versed in this kind of adversity, clearly. I could probably write a doctoral thesis on it (and might someday, depending on whether or not I actually go for an advanced degree in the future).

It does get easier to do, the more often you do it. I know that. You probably know that. Its true of pretty much everything one can do. It’s also true that there’s a point of diminishing return where it stops being noticeably easier. I would like to get back to that point, sure, but that just means I’m better at getting on the mountain to work on climbing it. It doesn’t actually make the mountain smaller.

Even in an ideal situation, with time to write every day and a minimum of other worries to keep away, I’ve still got a daunting task to accomplish. Not only that, I’ve got two I need to complete in a row to really count them as the success I want to see. I can’t just write a book, I’ve got to get myself to the point where I can write full-time.

Sitting here, at the base of all three of my mountains, I can tell you it’s really hard to make myself start walking up any one of them, much less split my time between all three. It seems far more tempting to find a path with some nice hills and valleys, some easier treks to try before I really make an attempt at any of my mountains.

I’ve never been very good at letting myself off easy, though. As much as I really want to consider something easier, as much as I’d like to take the easy route, I know the only reason I’d ever wind up in those hills and valleys is if I fell off one of my mountains. I may doubt myself constantly and wonder if I’m as good as other people have said (one teacher had to pretty much beat it into me and I’ll be forever grateful), but I know I’m good at trying again.

As today literally showed me, doing something again is always easier than doing it the first time and, somethings, you’ve just got to hike up your pants and climb that stupid rock. I did. There was a great view at the top. Maybe, someday, I’ll be able to say the same thing from the top of one of my metaphorical mountains.

 

In more business-y terms, I’m in the process of setting up some streaming and video-recording capabilities on my computer, solely so I can make and upload a “1000 Ways to Die: LoZ Edition” video along with the review I eventually post of Breath of the Wild. I might link a YouTube account to this thing or just post all my videos here if people are interested. Other potential videos include a “Naked and Afraid” run-through of Breath of the Wild” which will likely be the source of many of the 1000 deaths and something to do with the Dragon Age franchise. I dunno. Maybe some kind of heavy RP and story-telling element video. We’ll see. I’ve got a history of planning bigger projects than I can accomplish, so take that all with a grain of salt.

Finally back after Suffering from Plumber’s Block

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I definitely suck at regular updates.

Now no one can say I didn’t warn them when I fall silent for a few weeks. I played a bunch of Pokemon Go until the 3-step bug made it impossible to find anything and then a lot of work-stress coupled with relief from a lot of different work stress has left me avoiding writing for a while. I’m working on getting back to it now (as you can plainly see), but I tend to wind up doing this a lot.

The first thing to go when I get stressed out or my depression starts acting up is my writing. The one thing I have that always grounds me, my most complete escape, my way to speaking out about what troubles me and I abandon it when I need it most. I want to be able to write because it is all those wonderful things for me, but it takes so much from me that I sometimes need to choose rest or not-writing instead. No matter what I want.

The first time I attended an event at which Patrick Rothfuss was appearing/answering questions, someone asked him about writer’s block. Patrick Rothfuss hemmed and hawed for a moment before saying that it was sort of ridiculous that writers have this condition unique to them that explains why some of us can’t seem to get anything written. He saw the somewhat negative reaction of the crowd and asked us to bear with him for a little bit while he explained what he meant.

He explained that, just like a plumber with a broken arm or the flu wouldn’t be expected to fix your plumbing, a writer shouldn’t expect themselves to write if they’re not feeling well. And that’s not just physical illness. He talked about mental illness and the impact it can have on a writer’s ability to work. Writer’s Block isn’t a diagnosable thing. We often use it to talk about times when we can’t write because of our mental health, but it is usually better to recognize what is actually in the way of us writing rather than blame it on something similar to the boogeyman. I often can’t write because of my depression and anxiety, so I own up to that, even if it is only to myself. That makes it a lot easier to get back to writing again since you know when you’re feeling better.

His thoughts about writer’s block really struck home for me and woke me from the sort of blind Hero Worship view I had of him. It made me really start to see him as a normal person. As a Human, rather than some object of worship or reverence. It was kind of like when you look at your parents and realize that they’re only humans as well. They’re not superheroes and to expect perfection from them is to deny them their humanity. To expect perfection from myself is to deny myself my humanity.

I wrote a poem on day when I was feeling a bit more cheerful and bit more blasé about the high expectations I have for myself. Like a lot of my poems, it started off with a bit of a random thought and ran from there.

 

If I were a god
I would be worshipped by frat boys and single mothers.
A god of beer drinking, simple living, and neat little recipes that your kids will love.

If I were a god,
I would be capricious and mighty but also incredibly lazy.
A god of harsh judgment and terrible wrath who just asks you to try to be better.

If I were a god,
I would stride the land cloaked in wind and thunder and rain.
A god of storms who brings nothing but rain on windows and thunder in the distance.

If I were a god,
I would grant my adherents visions of what might be.
I’d give my true believers the sight to see just what they could make of themselves.

If I were a god,
I would have the power to change the world to my liking.
I’d get so tired and angry with all the humans begging for help that I’d strike them down.

If I were a god,
I would encourage self-help and doing it yourself.
A god who helps those who help themselves and let the lazy stay in the dirt and dust.

If I were a god,
I would be most terrible and fearsome to behold.
I’d be the most beautiful entity in all of creation but far too bright to actually see.

If I were a god,
I would rid the world of evil and all that is wrong.
I’d strike down all of those who oppose me and bend the universe to my will.

If I were a god,
I would be an awful mess as you can clearly see.
I’d be breaking all my own rules and constantly at odds with myself.

If I were a god,
I wouldn’t be another human just trying to get by.
But that’s all I am so maybe I shouldn’t expect quite so much of me.

 

Silly and kinda peaceful, but with a bit of something to think about at the end. Exactly my preferred style. Definitely not my best work, but I’m not convinced I’ll ever be able to point to something and say “that’s my best work” so that phrase doesn’t really mean much. But it feels good, you know? To give myself permission to be just a little bit more human than usual.

But that’s why I tend to stop writing. Writing is hard. I have to spend a lot of time in my head and that’s not always such a great place to be. Gaming and reading get me out of my head and into something else. It’s a different kind of escape, specifically for when I need to escape me instead of the world. But now I’m ready to deal with me again so here I am. Updating my blog and working a daily writing session into my schedule.

Cut yourself some slack today. Just, you know, let it go for a bit and pick it up later.