After a very frustrating, tiring and exasperating year and a freakin' half of creative 'block', I HAVE WRITTEN AND IT IS GOOD!!!!
God, that felt good. There's such catharsis in fiction for me, I hate it when I can't write it effectively. It's like...trying to wear shoes three sizes too small and then running a mile in them. Or wanting to open a door and realizing the knob is covered in grease and you haven't got any Dawn to clean it off.
And right now, I'm sure you're all making faces like this (link goes to an OMG so not work safe animated GIF; if you are easily offended, do not click). Tough. My blog, my life, my rules. If I want to whine about my block or my words not working right or my writing being inauthentic, I will do so.
Oooh, see? The writing gave me a head rush and sent me on a power trip.
Now, if I can just keep it up. The mental hygiene is invaluable.
Ok, I'm tired now. I think I'm going to bed, but first a quote:
Obviously, the idea that the artistic impulse is inevitably the product of a psychological condition is not new. After all, history is filled with examples of the tormented artist stricken by melancholy, going on drunken binges, cutting off an ear, and generally behaving--as we therapists like to say--inappropriately. But to infer that some kind of "craziness" underlies creative endeavor, or, even worse, that the impulse to create is itself an indicator of some condition is just plain wrong.
Dennis Palumbo, Writing from the Inside Out: Transforming Your Psychological Blocks to Release the Writer Within. p. 58
I'll have to elaborate on how Mr. Palumbo's book has impacted my thinking as a writer, but later. Maybe tomorrow. For now...sleep.