Writing Challenge | ParkInkSpot

…well, not exactly.

I’m highly distracted, by television and twitter and facebook and all of those things I should know how to turn off by now. I used to prefer quiet to noisebox.

Now I’ve acquired a way to carry around a host of distractions in my hand, it’s only grown worse. I used to sneer at people who never put down their cell phones; and now I am one. Productivity, naturally, has taken a nosedive.

The more I learn about writing, the more critical I become of my own. And, when I feel discouraged, I can almost always find something to do that does not feel like an uphill struggle.

Nanowrimo left me behind. It depresses me that I don’t have the raw output (or the great idea, or even a rough plot) required to put into a novel-length work.

I edit while I’m writing; which is a really bad bad BAD habit.

I throw away ideas for being too trivial, or too difficult, or too big, or too small. My favorite haunts are part of the problem; a drabble is too small to contain “real” characters or “real” plots, yet I have no “markets,” no place to contribute longer fiction. So there’s another excuse to not write it at all.

And I’m drowning in unwritten ideas, yet cannot finish a story in time to match prompt [X] before deadline [Y].

Prompts aren’t helping, in my current state.

In short, I have ten thousand excuses to not write. Taking it way more seriously that necessary.

Psychoanalysis time! Doc, help me out of this Flop Sweat funk.

And reading all of that, I realize it is a classic writer’s doubt block, that I’ll need to learn to deal with. Let’s start with turning off the T.V. After this episode of Blindspot. And lunch. (fail)

#WriteMotivation

While a child, you are Steam. A bundle of chaos. Active, random, difficult to contain, escaping your containers, making them (like a teakettle) want to scream in frustration.

As an adult, you calm and become Water. You are resilient, you are adaptable, you rise to fill your space.

But in the end, we all become Ice. The joints begin to freeze, and crackle when they flex. Movement becomes slower, more difficult and sometimes painful.

I never really wanted to be Iceman. He was always the least interesting of the X-men, after all. But the ice is creeping in on me now. I hear the snap, crackle and pop each morning. And (sadly) not from my Rice Krispies bowl. “Loss of muscle mass and flexibility”, sayeth the internet, “Possibly even early stages of osteoarthritis”.

Damn you, Bobby Drake, who even invited you to the party? Get lost! Shoo!