Over the past few weeks, I have felt that my writing is nothing more than a chore. What an awful feeling to have. My beloved story, that I long to unravel from the creative crevices in my brain and transcribe into a novel people would hopefully embrace some day has become an amalgam of sentences to shift around on paper. (Copy, paste, cut, right click then drag, delete, undo, redo) Thesaurus, dictionary, word families, Google search, image search) Ughhhhhh!
I have lost the eagerness to tell the story. I have become entangled into too many grammatical and prosaic details and have become stalled into correcting and recorrecting words, phrases, sentences, and paragraphs. I am struggling to find the right words to put in the right place. Adjectives and adverbs need replacing with action verbs. The words at the ends of sentences need to have an effect of some kind. The pacing and flow need to have rhythm.
I have an inner rhythm to my writing. If it doesn’t read right when I proofread, I’ve got to change it. It’s like my mind wants to dance a waltz or even groove as it reads.
I don’t see myself at the point anytime soon where the right words will flow and the story will actually be told as it reads. Shoot! When will I ever get to move on to chapter two? I could just do it, but chapter one will distract me like a stain until its right.
This may take me forever, but I hope that the process itself becomes easier with time. Moreover, I just hope the final product reflects the story as it already sits – completed in a nice package and tucked away in the creative sulcus of my brain.
For now, I’m going to resort to a couple of months of how-to books. I know many writers think they’re a waste of time. But I’m wasting time anyway.
WOrD oF thE dAy
lackluster – lacking in sheen, brilliance, or vitality : DULL, MEDIOCRE
(from Merriam-Webster Collegiate Dictionary)
Jacqué D. Howard