This last week I got to try my hand teaching English to 10th graders. Not the whole class; more like the last 25 minutes or so as the lead teacher had to leave. The students are working on adverbs. UGH! I may be wrong in my assumption but I believe that most of the world loathes adverbs. Writers probably more so. Ha!
And yet, when looking for a title for tonight’s post I purposely used one. Anew. Definition: in a new or different, typically more positive, way.
For quite some time I have been burdened with this inability to do any real writing. No. I think that might be a lie. I’m not sure. I haven’t attempted it with my whole heart so perhaps it isn’t quite an inability. I just can’t find the motivation or inspiration to do so. I have all these ideas and even write down the story ideas but I do nothing with it.
My fantasy book, in which book two needs to be written, is torture for me. I can’t seem to find any umph or mojo to write this. Even with my writing partner, who BTW, has produced three chapters for this book already, and I can edit just fine. Yet my desire and motivation to collaborate by writing my portions…remains empty. It makes me feel so gloomy and dare I say…empty.
So what is a writer, such as myself, to do? I went to the bookstore and browsed the shelves. I purchased some ‘selfhelp’ books, other supportive guidance books, and even a memoir. After trying one of the guidance books, which bored me to death…because I know how to write the damn books, I decided to read The Sound of Paper by Julia Cameron. At least, at this point, I think it is a memoir. I am leaning more on the idea that the book is three in one: selfhelp, guidance, and memoir. Perhaps though, this is a beneficial thing for me. We shall see.
I know I have not blogged much, and who knows who even reads these pages of mine. Still, for all your tortured writers out there, I feel your pain. And my pain in my inability to produce the art that is crying to be released (because it truly is) I want to ‘journal’ my journey. I would love to see something productive come out of this. Who the hell knows, crap, who can know what is on the other side of the door or around the bend or over the hill or across the ocean. All I know is that it is here where I choose to start anew.