I’ve been seriously slacking with my writing since I started working at the office I’m currently working at. I started a year ago, and it’s been busy and left me drained day after day. I haven’t yet figured out how to cope with that drained feeling. I don’t feel like I’ve been able to get any work done, but I’ve made some small efforts in the past few months. I’ve taken trips here and there, but nothing significant, in various attempts to take my mind away from work. I try my best to be creative with my life, even if writing isn’t the only creative avenue I pursue. I’ve fallen in and out of love, and I don’t know if that has helped or hurt my creativity. New York can be a lonely place, but I’ve got good friends that keep me going and I love seeing them when I get the chance. My family is great and filled with vitality. That also keeps me fresh and gives me a love of life.
I hope to get back to writing soon. I’ve only written in my journal, occasionally, to help myself get back into the swing of things. I wasn’t reading for the longest time, and hoped I would find something great in reading a friend’s manuscript. I did, thankfully, due to the fact that he’s a good writer. But, before reading my friend’s manuscript, I was reading a number of bad books. They were uninteresting, or if they were interesting, it didn’t last. I put down about three books before reading my friend’s manuscript, only to read subsequent books and be bored with them rather quickly. I hope I get myself out of this rut.
Earth is like one big hotel
And we’re the rock stars
Trashing all rooms,
Because We can.
But, We don’t know why
We have to pay for places to sleep.
Why the heck are people so easy?
It’s been a few months, but I submitted a short collection of poetry to a well-known contest. I didn’t win (big news). I don’t mean for that to sound like a downer. I think all of my rejections are piled up in the back of my mind somewhere, somewhere they can fester and cause me to get mad, and with the anger, keep trying. I don’t think I write for acceptance. I try to understand myself more, and of course that means trying to understand other people as well.
I’m going to publish that collection of short poetry on the cmillerproject. I don’t consider myself a poet, but this collection may be the best poetry I’ve ever written. I feel inclined to share it for free.
I’m still working on my novel. It’s looking more like a novella now that I’ve edited another draft, and I think I’m going to self-publish it because I care more than anything how the story gets finished. I don’t want it to be heavily edited by some person I don’t know. I want the ideas to stick, and everything that happens to happen.
With all that said, I’ll post the collection in the next day, or maybe a few days. I have to make sure it’s smoothed out.
Maybe it’s a novella I’m writing.
Heavy experimentation in the works. Things have been too clean lately, too precise, and predictable.
A lot of time has passed since I’ve written anything. I haven’t even been writing in my journal heavily lately. I feel like it’s a sickness, conversely, I feel like it’s just normal. There’s nothing burning inside me. I suppose I’ve had that feeling before, and I wrote it down (whatever it was), but that’s not the case. Count this as a journal entry. I’ve said this was a kind of journal. I’m still editing my short story collection as I get it back in pieces from my friend. I need new opinions also. The novel is still sitting, whether it’s a bad idea to have it sit or not. That’s what it’s going to do. I’ve ordered a messenger bag to carry it around in. Once I get that, I’ll print it up and begin working on it. Sometimes I like to get out and work on things rather than work from the house. Sometimes the house can feel suffocating and I need to change the scenery to get things the way I want them–‘right’.
About not writing lately–I don’t really feel guilty for not writing. I recently took a road trip to my mother’s house for Christmas and I didn’t take anything with me to keep writing. Maybe I needed a break. Maybe I still need that break. In a way I feel like there’s nothing wrong with taking a break from the writing if there’s no urge to write. There’s a difference between urge and inspiration. I have things to write about but I haven’t written them, for whatever reason. Maybe it’s a bad thing, as I’ve said, but when I get back on, I get back on, which will be soon.