Word Breeder

There are days when it's nearly impossible to wring any words from my hands. Most of it is the inner editor who smirks and laughs and taunts. 

The best I can do is realize that words breed words. Once they're on the page, they make more of themselves as thought leads to thought.

Sometimes, you just have to lose yourself in the words. Let them wash over you and take you somewhere else, like some big, muddy river. 

I can't see where I'm going, but I figure it out when I get there.

The Writer's High

It was this, or a runner with legs like Chewbacca.

I'm not a runner. Just thinking about running gives me heart palpitations. But, my wife runs. When she first started, it was difficult, but she started to break through to the fabled "runner's high," so I'm familiar with the idea. 

For me, writing is the same way. I have deep, deep dread when opening a document, especially one I've been working on. I try not to go back into the previous material unless I'm looking for information for connections. If I start reading, I'll become depressed that it's not good enough. 

My best writing is done when rewriting. It's where my strength is, from my own point of view. But I can't edit something that's not there.

Sometimes, this dread keeps me from writing at all. All the joy is sapped from the story. I'm concerned that maybe I'll screw up what good I've done or that what I've written is such trash that thinking of myself as any kind of writer is laughable at best.

Then, I try to remember the writer's high. That euphoric feeling one gets when one has written. I try to use that to push me forward. I stick in my headphones, drown out the world, and go to work carving out large chunks, saving the fine carving and sanding for later. 

I have to start somewhere or not start at all. 

It reminds me of the quote, attributed to Dorothy Parker (but, who knows, it's the internet): “I hate writing, I love having written.”