Me squeaky right now. Me not working like me should. Me rusty.
Sigh. I’m following one of those cardinal writers’ rules, and I’m sharing my struggles publicly. Hopefully it will work. Hopefully it will do something. Hopefully, this rust will squeak its way right off of me and I can move on with life!!!! 😡
Okay, so here we go.
I am rusty. I don’t know what exactly is wrong with me, but I just can’t seem to get going on a story.
I revisit the same themes…a will, a letter, a lonely MC, a best friend…My own collection of personal clichés. Maybe that’s one of my problems.
When I write, it comes up feeling dry and soulless. It feels crunchy like a stale cracker…no, not crunchy…It feels empty. Like a cloudy clunker of a tupperware box. With an old, dry orange peel inside, and a fly buzzing around near-noiselessly.
Maybe I’ve just gotten out of the habit too much. I’ve been into poetry lately, and blogging, and Planty. I’ve also been juggling schoolwork as well as working-for-money. Although, I save some time on the socialization sector; I don’t have a very active social life. (Which can be sort of unpleasant, but somewhat of a blessing too…)
Maybe I haven’t written enough lately, and my muscles are weak. Maybe I just am not a “Writer” anymore, and I need to re-become one. I write, sure…but fiction comes hard these days. I haven’t gotten started on the novel I would love to be writing right now.
I am also out of my writers’-circle. I mean, online, I have you guys—a small group of writing friends. But in real life, I haven’t really been sharing my work much, I haven’t been chatting it up with my writer homies. Life takes precedence, of course. But writing should be part of my life.
Maybe I’m lazy.
Maybe me is just rusty.