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when writing turns from joy to job
Dec. 19th, 2012 12:01 amMy Yuletide assignment is currently at 1,350 words. Yay, I have passed the minimum wordcount. I am not remotely done, but whatever. Details, psssh.
(Also, the first scene is almost a thousand words on its own, so if push comes to shove, I can probably toss on a bit more sensory description and scene-setting and call it a story in its own right. Hopefully that will not happen, though.)
Writing this story has been a bizarre experience so far, because I have had the general idea planned for over a week now, but I still have no inspiration for actual writing. I even tried writing a prompt!fic last night, to see if the act of writing (even if something completely unrelated) could jolt me into feeling creative, but apparently not. So this progress is entirely mechanical, no real excitement or impetus whatsoever. (Not even deadline panic, which is extremely unexpected.)
I know the end result will not look any different from my other work and I do like what I've already created, but it's always a weird feeling to be spinning words out of hollowness instead of spinning them out of joy.
Maybe tomorrow deadline panic will set in and I will at least be feeling something. *sigh*
-----
ETA: Three scenes done for a total of over 2,000 words now, for whatever that's worth. It does get a bit easier as one goes on. The act remains mechanical, but I started taking some pleasure in a piece of description here and there, and a bit of figurative analogy.
...
Is it weird that I am almost looking forward to writing the fifth scene, even though it's objectively the most horrible thing that happens in the whole story?
(Also, the first scene is almost a thousand words on its own, so if push comes to shove, I can probably toss on a bit more sensory description and scene-setting and call it a story in its own right. Hopefully that will not happen, though.)
Writing this story has been a bizarre experience so far, because I have had the general idea planned for over a week now, but I still have no inspiration for actual writing. I even tried writing a prompt!fic last night, to see if the act of writing (even if something completely unrelated) could jolt me into feeling creative, but apparently not. So this progress is entirely mechanical, no real excitement or impetus whatsoever. (Not even deadline panic, which is extremely unexpected.)
I know the end result will not look any different from my other work and I do like what I've already created, but it's always a weird feeling to be spinning words out of hollowness instead of spinning them out of joy.
Maybe tomorrow deadline panic will set in and I will at least be feeling something. *sigh*
-----
ETA: Three scenes done for a total of over 2,000 words now, for whatever that's worth. It does get a bit easier as one goes on. The act remains mechanical, but I started taking some pleasure in a piece of description here and there, and a bit of figurative analogy.
...
Is it weird that I am almost looking forward to writing the fifth scene, even though it's objectively the most horrible thing that happens in the whole story?
