Stuck on a Story

I am stuck. I am developing more ideas on background and characters but less on plot. I think I may have lost my purpose and really, it was to detox from the heavy writing. Now my fun story is almost a chore, an unfinished task that I can’t quite wrap my head around. I feel like something Jane said about painting is true with my own writing: it becomes a job, and then it’s not fun to play anymore.

But I have to write. It’s bad for me when I don’t. It’s not always good for me when I do, but it is always bad for me when I stop writing. So, blog. Yes! Let me send all my incomplete, self-doubtful thoughts out into the Internet! That’s where they belong!

Sometimes I hate that I fit well into my generation. My people bother me, despite how well I fit among them.

Today was weird. Things have been weird lately. It’s maybe because Niki isn’t as present, by my own request. I miss her like whoa. Also, getting back into therapy is weird. I suddenly feel like ideas and thoughts have been piling in my head, and maybe I was ignoring them, or they were quieter when not discussed, or something like that…but they are not fading as pleasantly as they once did. Like a squeaky gerbil wheel, they unexpectedly pop up and scare the bejesus out of me in formly quiet moments. Then I remember if I pay more attention, to my thoughts and/or the gerbil, they might sound less intrusive. Awareness might help, as it so often does.

I can’t always be uncesored, I fear. Although my lack of censorship¬†causes anxiety in others, sometimes. It goes along with my qualms about truth-telling. I believe in truth-telling, and am convinced it’s not only easier, but usually smarter than lying. However, there are distinct times when I know the truth is NOT what my conversation partner is looking for in the moment. Usually I will ask if they want the truth, or just keep my big mouth shut, but sometimes they just have the disappointed look of someone who didn’t really want that answer. I am at a crossroads, choosing between lying for their sake (or my own sake, to spare myself having to deal with their discomfort) or being honest and annoying everyone involved. (I am way more annoyed at myself, more often than anyone else ever could be. Trust me.) Tonight, in that situation, I told the truth. I don’t regret it, but I am considering a drink and a round of Civ 5 to forget I said anything at all.

I have to get back on this writing thing. I can’t do everything else I do, and justify it in my mind, if I’m not writing. And while I like what I’m doing, the point is greater. The goal is a book. And that needs to involve me sitting down and putting words on the freaking page.

The blank page stares me down, mocking my measly words that look like eraser smudges in comparison to the empty sea of white. Curse that blinking cursor, that ticks out every second my mind can’t form the next sentence. Fuck you, word count, who continuously points out how many times I’ve failed to meet 1,000 words per session. That’s so many words!

I’m done for now. Like driving to the DMV and waiting only to realize you’ve forgotten your paperwork, I am a result-lacking adult. A for effort, F for outcome.

At least Jared will be in town soon. I cannot wait to see that man.


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