the strange concept of writer's block
Sep. 23rd, 2004 08:37 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
edenfallingWrote more Ekanufic. This one is growing into an actual story-type story, not just a single scene. And Ekanu and Denifar are being irritating, dancing around the fact that they're both wondering about a relationship. It won't work out in the end -- I know this for a fact -- but now I'm wondering how far they'll ever get before they give it up as a bad job.
Also, Ekanu is starting to have existential doubt about her path in life. This is never good.
"Secrets" is irritating me. Ginny has gone back to Myrtle's bathroom, and I'm realizing just how much of a busy crossroads that room is in CoS. I mean, Tom keeps hauling the Basilisk up through the pipes (and I'd really like to know how he got Ginny down there and back without getting all slimy and icky, the several times he used the beast), the trio are brewing the Polyjuice Potion (which is bubbling merrily away during the attack on Justin, yet Tom doesn't do a thing about it... why?), and then Harry's walking past it again, just after Ginny's chucked away the diary... man, that bathroom gets a lot of foot traffic, for an abandoned room!
What I really want to be writing just now is chapter 2 of "Strange Likenesses," but my brain is only supplying Ekanu and Ginny. And bits of an old, semi-abandoned original story from 5 years ago, but I think I fed that one enough words today to get rid of it for a while.
I can always make the words come if I want to. It's just that sometimes I really don't want to, underneath, even if the surface layers want to write.
You know, I think that's why I've never been afraid of writer's block. If the words don't come, I know it's not some mystical thing that's dried up. It's just me, being pig-headed and self-destructive, or sometimes beating my head against a part of the story where I'm trying to go in the wrong direction. And since I know it's just a mood thing or a wrong turn, I don't worry about it. I just let it go, and when I'm ready to write again, I write.
The ideas are never going to stop coming, because they never started coming in the first place. I make them, like I make the words and put them in order. Yeah, sometimes they get triggered involuntarily, but the connection is always in my own mind, and I can always feed new things into the generator myself instead of waiting around for inspiration to hit.
I dunno. I talk about stories being nasty to me, and I mean that, but it's the kind of opposition I enjoy even as it drives me nuts -- I know it's all in my head, and when I'm talking about writing, that's a good thing. Because it means I control the words and the ideas. They aren't a gift. They can't be taken away.
Writing is a skill, and I've been practicing for a long time.
Also, Ekanu is starting to have existential doubt about her path in life. This is never good.
"Secrets" is irritating me. Ginny has gone back to Myrtle's bathroom, and I'm realizing just how much of a busy crossroads that room is in CoS. I mean, Tom keeps hauling the Basilisk up through the pipes (and I'd really like to know how he got Ginny down there and back without getting all slimy and icky, the several times he used the beast), the trio are brewing the Polyjuice Potion (which is bubbling merrily away during the attack on Justin, yet Tom doesn't do a thing about it... why?), and then Harry's walking past it again, just after Ginny's chucked away the diary... man, that bathroom gets a lot of foot traffic, for an abandoned room!
What I really want to be writing just now is chapter 2 of "Strange Likenesses," but my brain is only supplying Ekanu and Ginny. And bits of an old, semi-abandoned original story from 5 years ago, but I think I fed that one enough words today to get rid of it for a while.
I can always make the words come if I want to. It's just that sometimes I really don't want to, underneath, even if the surface layers want to write.
You know, I think that's why I've never been afraid of writer's block. If the words don't come, I know it's not some mystical thing that's dried up. It's just me, being pig-headed and self-destructive, or sometimes beating my head against a part of the story where I'm trying to go in the wrong direction. And since I know it's just a mood thing or a wrong turn, I don't worry about it. I just let it go, and when I'm ready to write again, I write.
The ideas are never going to stop coming, because they never started coming in the first place. I make them, like I make the words and put them in order. Yeah, sometimes they get triggered involuntarily, but the connection is always in my own mind, and I can always feed new things into the generator myself instead of waiting around for inspiration to hit.
I dunno. I talk about stories being nasty to me, and I mean that, but it's the kind of opposition I enjoy even as it drives me nuts -- I know it's all in my head, and when I'm talking about writing, that's a good thing. Because it means I control the words and the ideas. They aren't a gift. They can't be taken away.
Writing is a skill, and I've been practicing for a long time.
