Tuesday, March 25, 2008

IN BED

I hate this feeling. It's difficult to explain. It's 12:28 a.m. In bed with my laptop while my girlfriend and the cats are sound asleep. I'm wide awake with nothing to say, nothing to do. So much of my life revolves around writing. But what does a writer do when there's nothing to write? Easy answer -- post blogs like these. Hard answer -- not sure. I took a walk earlier to calm myself. It helped a little, but mainly I got more upset looking at the marvelous homes in my neighborhood and thinking how I am nowhere near owning one myself. Not that owning a home is some major goal for me, because it's not. But it all comes back to writing. This is what I do and when I don't do it, I get down on myself because I don't know what to do with myself or who I am without it. Having nothing to say really sucks.

I'm nine chapters deep of my first novel. I wrote all weekend but hit a wall. Now I don't know where to go with it. Tried some poems tonight -- they all sucked. I dig deep into my mind to draw on experience and come up empty.

I talk to other writers. They seem to have a goal in mind. I don't. I want it all. Novels, poetry, short stories, blogging, journalism -- it's like a drug and I'm all out at the moment.

There are times when I feel like a real doofus. I talk to friends and inevitably work comes up. I don't want to talk about what I do at home all day. But maybe secretly I do. If the subject comes up that often, there must be something to that. I don't think anyone believes me when I say I am working all the time. It's almost always a different project from day to day, but I am consumed with it. And not in the way that most of my friends would assume. Before a year or so ago, I was consumed with work, or how much I hated it, to be specific. Now, the guy who screamed into a microphone about how much work sucks can't get the topic off his mind. There's some irony somewhere in there. It's different making money for yourself as opposed to some big corporation. But I swear it's not the money. I am battling with myself constantly because this is what I do, who I am.

Writing makes me comfortable and gives me incentive to be a productive member of society. God knows I suck at everything else. Everything I do, everywhere I go, every person I meet -- it's all work for me. In some way, it all relates to writing. I don't know why. I am a stutterer in certain situations. It's a trait I got from my late grandfather. I'm not very good at conversation. There are only a handful of people in my life who I feel really comfortable around. But writing transforms me into someone else. I am so much better with words of the written variety.

Now that I've got this off my chest, let's hope I wake up with an overflowing amount of words that leap from my mind, through my fingers and onto the screen.

1 comment:

Steve said...

Try calling up some old friends. Duh!