Writer's block

I am in desperate need of something to break my writer's block. I have too many projects to do, and honestly, one of them is no longer holding any interest for me. Naturally that's the one project that I promised to someone else. It might even be that the promise is the reason the interest has faded. I can be very contrary that way.

When I think about writer's block, I see it as a physical thing, a literal block of marble blocking the path I'm trying to follow. It's white and square and taller than I am, and it's waiting for Michelangelo to come and create a new David, or for Auguste Rodin to make a man who's finished thinking and is ready to act. My problem is that I have no hammer, no chisel, and no talent for making something out of a blank hunk of solid nothing. The only nothing that I can create is made of air and breath and scattered thought, and the marble in my path makes the air jetties swirl away, carrying the fragments of words and atoms of plot to places that I can't reach.

I can write about not being able to write, it seems; it's too bad that isn't what I'm supposed to be writing.

It might be time to take all of those projects and introduce them to the shelf for a while, to noodle away at something completely unrelated until the juices start to flow and I'm ready to take on my tasks again.

__________

I've been very involved with Resonance of late. I was unable to find any actors who were willing to participate, so I've extremely reluctantly cast myself in the role of Alisha Williams, the central character in the Detroit Resonance story. I'm limited in more ways than one, but I'm going to give it a go anyhow. The video portions of this offering will take the form of a video diary, I think, filmed through my digital camera. We'll see how this works out.

In other areas of my writing, I'm still wrestling with Light at the End of the World and thinking thinky-thoughts about Knight of Sorrows and Catherine's Wheel. I'm also playing with the idea of writing a screenplay that may or may not be based loosely on one of my short stories. We shall see.

In the meantime, keep cool, Crickets. It's been hot out there.

random philosophizing on immortality

Clive Cussler is 80 years old today. I heard it on NPR. I'm not a particular fan of Mr. Cussler, but it did surprise me, although it probably shouldn't have, that he has so many years under his belt.

I thought about all of the authors who have been published, and realized how many of them - the majority, really - are no longer among the living. It just goes to show that writing really is the key to immortality. The trick is to make sure that what survives is what you want the world to see, because it will ultimately be the only thing for which a writer is remembered.

This is especially true of me. I am unable to have children, so there will be no little pockets of my DNA racing around in the world at large. The Crickets can rest easy on that point... Once I'm gone, there will be no "junior" to rear his or her ugly head and continue to perpetrate scribblings in my image. Nothing will physically remain of me once I have slipped away.

My work, though, will remain. My poems, my short stories, my songs, my blogs, my words. My vampires really do have the potential to live forever. It's a strange thing to ponder.

My mind won't let me get too far down the path of immortality, though, without reminding me in a paraphrase of Abraham Lincoln that the world will little note nor long remember anything I do or anything I am/was. For a writer to become truly immortal, people have to read what that writer created. That is where literary immortality arises.

In that respect, I'm safe, because in terms of people reading what I write, I'm dead already. I can't even get a chirp back from a Cricket on this blog! It's pretty quiet here in this mausoleum built of words.

Maybe immortality comes to those who write. Maybe it never comes at all. One thing is certain: living with your eyes on tomorrow will make you lose sight of today. Today is all we really have.

What if....
What if....

What if I wrote a screen play?

I think I want to try.

Hello, Crickets! Despite all indications to the contrary, I am in fact among the living, and I'm even moderately functional.

I've started working on a project that may be glorified fan fiction, or it may be a response to a call from the creators of a prospective TV series to help universe-build. Whatever the case, I'm having a fine time with it. For more information, please check out www.willyouhelp.co.uk. It's a fascinating story, and even if it "comes to nothing" in a professional sense, it's a good time, and a good way to reconnect with a good friend.

Elsewhere, my migraine issues seem to be in hand, and I'm once again able to concentrate for more than five minutes at a stretch. Concentration and focus are very important and useful skills for a writer.

I hope that any of you who are reading this blog are doing well, and that your various Cricketdoms are enjoying the summer. Take it easy. I'll be back before you know it.

Bugger.

What part of "I have to finish LEW and KOS" sounds like "Please, new characters, come and start telling me a new story"? Idiot cast of thousands, they never let me get anything done around here....

Reminding you I exist

Hello, Crickets! I haven't forgotten you, and I hope you haven't forgotten me. Real-real has been a challenge of late, but I hope to be able to return to my putative writing career soon. The Light at the End of the World is still crawling forward, and I actually got some assistance on Knight of Sorrows that I wasn't anticipating. Sometimes it pays to talk about your work with people who aren't so close to the project - there can be moments of surprising insight. I have a new handle on Tristan's character and personality that will give me a foothold going forward.

Happy Memorial Day to the Americans in the swarm, and a hearty thank you to the veterans who have served so that people like me can have the liberty to come on line and whine to our hearts' content.

Think of me sometimes, dear Crickets. I think of you.