Friday, December 19, 2008

So. Not. Feeling. It.

Here it is. 10 a.m. I'm still futzing around. I just spent 45 minutes reading a string of blog comments on a blog I don't even like. Then I wondered for a few moments what the rabid right wing thought of the auto bailout package (not happy, in case you were wondering). And now here I am, blogging.

Today is the Friday before Christmas, and I am not feeling this at all. I don't wanna write today. I don't wanna chase down interviews. I don't wanna work on a revision for a novel that's to go out on submission in January. I don't wanna do anything other than read a little, plan a few meals, maybe buy a gift. 

I just don't wanna be a writer today.

This is a problem, because I really and truly don't have a choice. First off, I have to write to eat. It's a simple exchange. Words equal food. Food equals life. Life is good. Second, I have very definite things I want to accomplish over the coming weeks, months and year. I have a little post-it stuck above my computer that admonishes me to write a certain kind of book (dripping with awesomeness) by a certain birthday (forty). Third, and at least for today most importantly, I have editors who are expecting me to hit deadlines ... which takes me back to point one about writing and food.

I never had much use for the art-house approach to writing. I'm a butt-in-chair, grind-it-out kind of guy. When I'm writing fiction, it's 1,000 words a day, every day, seven days a week. And when I'm on deadline, I'm pretty sure my editors don't much care if I feel the urge to don a beret, smoke brown cigarettes and discuss Sartre. They just want the words, greedy monkeys that they are.

No, I'm much more from the brick-layer school of writing. To me, it's a trade. Like any other trade, some days you're feeling it. Some days you're not. But you've got to do it either way because ... well, because the only way to achieve any success as a writer is to actually write. So there it is. 

Now I'm off to grind out as many words as my poor fingers can muster ... Wish me luck. And good luck to you, too.


Erica Orloff said...

Oh, Man . . . .

I have Shiny New Idea Syndrome, not . . . write this magazine piece and get paid syndrome.

So feel your pain.

Not to mention I have done jack sh*t to get ready for Christmas. Haven't. Started. Shopping.

Um. Yeah.


Zoe Winters said...

I know, I'm feeling you. I have the blahs. I've ordered some full spectrum lights to help mimic sunlight and help me get out of this funk so I can get some work done. Suddenly I just got off track.

Hopefully it will help me get my sleep schedule fixed as well.

Zoe Winters said...

Oh and crap, I mentioned the lights in the last comment i made on your blog. Another symptom of depression? Shitty memory.

Jude Hardin said...

I'm with you, Jon. That's why I don't really believe in writer's block. If writing is what you do, you just do it.

I'm an RN half the time, and I can just imagine the laughter if I called in and said, "I can't make it today. I have nurse's block."

I'm pretty sure it wouldn't fly.