Don't you just hate it when you sit down in front of your desk, open a word document
And nothing happens?
Seriously. Back a couple of years ago, you can whip up a decent (if emo) post in a few minutes, hit the post button, and go back to sleep. You even finished a short story - the first story you ever published - overnight. Some folks even say that that was your best story. Of course, back then, you were in college, didn't have to work, a rampant alcoholic, and best of all, you actually read all them long books (most of which weren't even entertaining).
So anyway, lately there's been a large decline in my drive to put two decent sentences together. I sometimes think that this is because I lack the endorphins necessary to think clearly enough without falling asleep after several minutes of staring into space. Other times, I think I just lack more alcohol in my system, and open the bottle that's always beside my table and knock back two hefty shots of neat brandy. This, of course, doesn't sustain my creativity as much as it quickens the onslaught of sleep and / or procrastination.
Truth of the matter is, I miss the times when I was so idle due to schoolwork that I had plenty of opportunities to think a story through from beginning to end. These days, I follow a strict exercise whenever I decide to work on a story:
- I look at a draft I'd written, and then I'd start reading it from the start just to get a feel of how the language flowed
- Since I'm going from the start, I see the flaws of each sentence / idea block, and I get caught up in the quagmire of revising them even before I make any headway in the story itself. Kurt Vonnegut calls this style "breaking."
- I get lost / give up on one particularly hairy plot point / flow problem, close the document, and watch porn. Well, okay, maybe not porn, but some similar distraction.
Once I manage to save enough cash so that I can spend a bit without feeling too guilty, I am going to get myself one of those miniature notebook computers. I know that I work best when I'm surrounded by the hiss of the masses you'd usually find in fast food joints.
Anyway, that's the latest from the front line. There's actually plenty more to talk about, but that would entail too much blood, sweat and tears from me, and I'd rather have a double enema filled with brandy than go through everything that's been weighing on my mind.