I just got myself a yoghurt and although I don’t think this is of any importance to you I need to start this post somewhere.
I’ve really fallen out of touch with writing lately. I actually made an audio, uh, audio thing, but then realized it didn’t do much other than sound like rambling from a faraway land (the mic was next to my mouth but there we have it). In the audio though I spoke about writing.
Writing is hard. What? It is. I find it really hard. Then again, I also find it ridiculously easy. You get me? I’m sure some will. There are times, like these past couple of months, where even the thought of trying to structure a sentence or even write drivel like this was exhausting. However, in there, there was also the time that I wrote Those with the Fear of Drowning. That was a line and from that line a few more frantically scrawled down pages. Is that the muse? Is the muse really that much of a mystery?
I was thinking more about this recently when I was in the shower. The shower: the place where all lifes mysteries are solved. I can’t speak for anyone else, but I know what makes me click. The sudden burst of words that comes forth, flowing one after another, and I’m the dog finally getting the maple kind of bacon.
It’s the rhythm. It’s hearing your own song and thinking “Oh yes, I like this” as you tap your feet or wave your arms around, or do both and look a little crazy, but sod it, all the romantic comedies say that’s sexy, right? Crazy girls are better in bed and all that. They’re also damn good at screaming and crying on the bed but they tend to miss out those scenes. Only quirky crazy that benefits the discoverer of said person allowed! All other crazy must report to the deleted sections of the script.
The melody, that’s the muse that gets me writing. A line that goes do do do do ba do, and from there I hold every instrument in that orchestra. I need that line though, and I don’t know where it comes from. You know what? Probably no where. Well, apart from my brain and most likely a few overheard conversations and written pieces that I’ve then merged together. All the lines that came before it and didn’t get to grow, those lines were also the muse but they were the muse driving down a dead end road because it didn’t sound right.
Ehehe, the muse is the writer and I’m some bastard editor “Oh nooooo, that’s frightful! Try again ol’ chap!”
Have I written this before?
Maybe all the times I got stumped writing. All the times I had a line in my head but I wasn’t yet ready to take it forward, and every idea half formed but another universe away from becoming a story, perhaps I just needed to turn the music up. I know that if we want to be productive as writers (by that I mean write often or whatever – do you only have to be productive as a writer until you’ve “made it”? Then I mean one book is fine, right? What was I…oh yes,) we’re supposed to take a business-like approach to it. Some things I can do that with, but it doesn’t mean anything will be any good. Other things, those are when I say writing is really bloody hard.
I must admit, I often wait for the high because the high means whatever I’m working on can be written in minutes whereas another approach means I’m sitting around twiddling my thumbs and looking for things that don’t need doing. Do you know how many cups of tea I made while writing my book? Too many. A shameful amount. I wasn’t even thirsty, I just wanted to do something other than stare at that damn screen. Go away flashy stick, be gone unfinished sentence that reading back makes no sense, aaaahhh screw it all!
I’m certain I’ve written this before.
What is this post even about anymore? I don’t know. I’ll probably change my mind on a lot of it. At least I’m writing though, write? Write…ahah, I meant right. See, I’m actually a really lazy writer. Editing is boring. That’s a really hard part of it isn’t it? I think when people say perseverance is the key they mean “Editing will make you want to eat your own book but you know keep going and maybe someone will take a shine to it!”
In the end, I hate writing. It does something for me nothing else can though, it gives me a sense of power. And with this power, I will take over the world! Mwahaha. Not really, not for any moral reason though, I mean I absolutely would if I could, but I just mean there is something about writing.
It’s not just a power though, it’s a sense of calm. A playground for all the characters I play make believe with, somewhere for them to come to life.
Well, Jesus in a chicken suit… power + life? I’m Victor Frankenstein.
Okay, there we have it. This post went from something to nothing to not much of anything to my grand personal revelation that I am Frankenstein.
I always thought of myself more like Dracula.
I’d promise you the next post will be more worthwhile to read, but you know I only lie on a Tuesday. It’s such a weird thing, when I first started writing on this blog again I wrote anything because I never expected anyone to read it. Now some people do, I feel guilty about writing the rambles I write. I mean don’t they say (who are “they”? the royal writers society who will behead all who use adverbs and tell don’t show?) write what you’d want to read? I think you know where I’m going with this.
I guess I just like you.
If you know what that is from, you are probably now one of my favourite people.