And now, a dose of what's going on inside my head.

[adelynne]

I wrote this on Friday afternoon, and having sat on it for a weekend, figure it's still worth posting. I don't like feeling like I'm angsting publicly but this journal is supposed to be my outlet for creativity, and creativity has been sorely lacking.

deliasherman once told me that you can't write while things are going wrong. She's right, of course. (I'll not say "She's always right," but near enough. Let's go with "She's often right.") So perhaps it's no wonder that I draw blanks whenever I so much as look toward one of my writing notebooks - this entry, after all, is being composed on paper dedicated for class notes, during class, no less.

But none of that gives me any comfort when it comes to how well Honour isn't going. Sure, the past month or two I've had plenty of excuses. But what about before? Has the steam gone out of my writing? Am I bored with my own story?

If that's the case, there's also the question of the short stories that have been sitting by, waiting their turn. I've only gotten a few lines on one of them, and I wonder where it's going and what my audience for that one could possibly be.

It feels like someone rolled a big-ass boulder into the middle of my creative stream and every so often I just collect what leaks through.

Well, okay. That's fine for now, I guess. I'm busy with school, and my family is taking far more of my attention now than previously (one way to know you're no longer "the baby" - everyone is looking to you to tell them what to do). But these things are temporary. I won't be in classes forever, and as my family heals and deals we'll lean on each other less.

And then what? Will my interest magically reappear? Do I just wait by the window for my muse to drop by? Until it condescends to see me?

I am so grounded in real life and the mundane right now I cannot fathom fantasy of any sort. (And so I went to Boskone. Heh.) And it makes me want to cry.

Comments

[lareinenoire.livejournal.com]

Unfortunately, there's really very little way to force inspiration other than just writing what comes out. Maybe take a break from Honour to work on the edits from Glamour for a bit? That way you're shaping something that already exists, for lack of a better word.

And think about the story. From what I can see, I don't think you're bored with it, but you're the only person who can say for certain.

And then what? Will my interest magically reappear? Do I just wait by the window for my muse to drop by? Until it condescends to see me?

Sadly, that's usually the way of it. Muses are pesky and arbitrary creatures.

[buymeaclue.livejournal.com]

I'm not sure this is of any use, but I am thoroughly familiar with this sort of thing. And it may or may not entirely go away, but even if it doesn't, peaceful coexistence is possible.

Take care o' yourself, and this is the sort of thing that tends to sort itself out.