The Writer's Block

beaconeer:

As writers, have you ever found yourself hunting down the middle ground? What I mean is, there is the background of your ideas of who these people are that you are writing about, how you are expecting these situations to work out, and the themes you want to come through in your writing, and there is the foreground that is the action and that is the description of the environs of the scene and all the scene encounters including the appearance and style of the characters. Or vice versa, depending on what you concentrate on as a writer. But the middle ground seems to be the real writing, the mesh of it all together and natural but highly skilled. Is this all Greek to you or do you understand what I mean? How do you best reach your middle ground?

beaconeer:

This may sound like a really strange question but have any of you ever noticed yourself getting sleepy after half an hour or so writing, even if you have had plenty of sleep and are not over tired? Is it the relaxation of writing your thoughts out? Is it avoiding the tough spots? What the heck is it?! And am I alone in ever having experienced this?

beaconeer:

Here I am sitting, at the allotted time for the planning for my writing program, wanting to hurry it up so that I can watch a netflix that just came in. I was excited about the prospect of this new endeavor, when it first occurred to me, that it was something I would accomplish and looking forward to discoveries about myself and my writing I might uncover in the process. The truth is, I love to write. The fact is, no matter how many ideas I have, I am excrutiatingly slow at getting them on paper. The great mystery, for me, is within that contradiction. I have encountered all manner of advice from fellow writers at writers' conferences, friends who write, articles in writing magazines, and even therapists. I have been at a loss, since few people have seemed to really understand that I never run out of ideas, I simply can't force myself to move any faster than a snail's pace at constructing them. Perhaps I never slow down enough in my usual routine to give myself a chance to step into that inspiration flow. Perhaps the aging process scares me, how it was so very much easier when I was a child with few responsibilities. Talent is not reliable. Diligence always pays off in one way or another. At the moment, the urge to hurry is also the urge to fill up the empty page, make it amiable and less forbidding, create something out of nothing and hopefully leave a trace of me behind.
I have, however, digressed. The mystery may have many facets, but the problem is simple. I need to find the best way for me to work. I need to satisfy the inquiry within myself as to whether or not I have truly followed through with the advice I have been given. So, month by month, I shall try various different methods in the art of writing, reporting first on my concerns about them and concluding with my findings as to how, when, and why they work or how, when, and why they don't work, for me. I expect that through these exercises, I will be able to tailor the most effective methods to my specific needs, with the strong background of a structured try. I will also require to be held accountable, and so I will report here throughout each month.

These are the methods I have singled out to try for a specific time everyday:

o September: Writing by Prompts, one prompt or project at a time.
o October: Freewriting first, again working on one project at a time AFTER freewriting for 15 minutes.
o November: Writing so many words/day, to strive for the Novel in a Month project. (approx. 1,700)
Also, outlining my plot first.
o December: Multi-tasking…working on many projects at once, within an allotted time.

The special concern I have for September, is once I get going with something, sometimes I like to combine everything I'm working on together, which equals a plot mess. I always think of sorting the mess as apart of the creative process, but its not always easy for me to decide and stick to my decisions about what part of the script is going where. I think this is often a stumbling block for me because I like to keep in mind what Im doing with the project, the whole project, while Im working on it, and yet I change things all the time.

jazminebel:

I had this picture:

and wrote this: ( Cut in case you want to write something of your own )

I haven't worked on it in ages. I feel bad. At the time I was very inspired... now... well, I just hope it might inspire someone.

vegawriters:

reading my mom's poetry. she's very talented, and right now the poems mostly center on getting better - remembering what it was like to have feeling in her hands, remembering the simple tasks of baking cookies or writing in her day planner ... it's a side of my mother that I only get a rare glimpse of - the side that is frustrated, that wants it to be like it once was. And yet, these poems show the side of her that is moving on, moving through this. She'll never be completely okay again, and she's somehow okay with that.

As her daughter, it's beautiful. When I was little, there was nothing that my mother couldn't do. Now, even with her limitations - even seeing the true humanity that is there - I think that maybe, there is still nothing she cannot do.

wintressanna:

I'd just like to throw out this idea...Im not sure myself if it would help or compound the problem of too many small dead writers' communities on Lj and too many too large and too active to serve the creative needs of their members. It seemed to me that what is needed is some sort of linking community. For example, a community solely devoted to placing applicants to the right community for them. Sounds like a large thankless project for someone but it might spur us all to be better supporters of each other if we each had a place in a small community in which we can get to know each other and we share interests in similar aspects of writing. I dont think it would necessarily be a good idea to limit each other by genre or even stylistic preferences, except in cases of extreme incompatibility, and I also think it would be necessary to avoid prejudice, especially on basis of age, religious affiliation, and socio-economic status which all seems to come up from time to time. I certainly dont think such linking community should be the only means by which one becomes admitted into one writing community or another, but it might help for those who have become frustrated with the search. What do you all think?

cedargrove:

I won't comment - I'll just post it, (if I can get the html right).

vegawriters:
Hey guys,

Just an FYI, my fanfic site www.geocities.com/vegawriters has been updated with a new commentary on the state of TV as we know it. This piece is going to be submitted eventually, so I don't know how long it's going to be up, but I thought I'd share.

~Shauna

cedargrove:

Folks... I'm as guilty as the next person, but there has to be a way we can revitalise this community... get people to actually post here so that it thrives and grows. So that we can share our work.

If anyone has any idea's please post here... I'll cross post this to my LJ too...

vegawriters:

So, here goes. I haven't posted here in a while, and I'm working on something that I've been writing down in my journal, I want to post this to you guys. Take it and run with it if you like.

Incorporate the sentence "Sleeps with Butterflies" into a story.a

Peace out and all my love
~shauna

cedargrove:

She was woken by a clip on the side of her ear... her mother standing over her.

"What are you doing here? Sill sleeping and already so late in the day. Get up! Get up! How do you expect to find a husband if they all know you sleep until..."

She sighed and tried to tune out her mother's continued ranting at her, taking the skins that were thrust into her hands. She stumbled a little as her mother's hand pushed to turn her around; to propel her toward the the meager well.

"And make sure you fill them properly this time." Her mother's voice came after her.

Nisa pulled her long robe straight and covered her head as she trudged across the shifting sand. It was dirty here, not the brilliant gold of the open desert, grey and lifeless - in spite of the water that lay hidden deep in the well. It was an uncomfortable dichotomy for her. It felt to her as though it were a metaphor of her life.

"Hey, dreamer!" Amir's voice set her teeth on edge, and then mocked both her and her mother as he repeated, "Make sure you fill them properly this time."

"Go sleep with your camel," she retorted, "She is the only woman that will have you!"

She knew it was not a wise thing to say to him, but she was tired of his teasing. She was tired of him altogether. If he never looked or spoke to her again, it would be too soon. He came close and raised his hand to her, but a look from an adult nearby halted the blow. She sighed again. She would be glad to be back to the rest of the tribe. She could get lost then... lost in the numbers. Perhaps next time she could go out with her aunt to bring the figs, instead of with her mother and the wool they took from the tribe's goats.

"And endless journey, and never getting anywhere," she sighs again, and began the tedious necessity of filling the water skins.

Movement in the corner of her eye made her pull away and she dropped the last of the skins all the way back to the bottom of the well. But the reflex was true enough... it could have been a snake, come for the water that was inevitably spilled by the side of the rough stone wall.

At first she could not make out what it was. A small splash of green. It was the brightest green she had ever seen, even at the biggest of the oases. Cautiously she reached toward it and took it into her hands. She pulled at the stretchy material, felt it's smooth texture and wondered how something like this had found it's way to the middle of the desert. As she tried to straighten up with the thing in her hand, it pulled against her fingers, the rubber stretching and then snapping at her hand almost painfully. She looked again, more closely this time and saw the length of string tied to the end of it. And forgetting the waterskins, she followed the trail of twine, to the scap of card at the other end.

It was a little torn... but she could still make out the words that were written in unfamiliar text - though a couple of those too were missing. She smiled as though the desert had given her the greatest treasure she could imagine. It had. It had give her a secret.

It was with a lighter heart that she went back to her chores. Anisahi smiled. She would ask her aunt to help her with the words, to find out what fortune her new treasure had brought her, but Aunt Fahrah would be the only one that would share her secret. This was hers... this was something better...

mirrani:
I would post something today, but as the site isn't getting much attention... I'll just say hello to everyone and hope they have a good day...

KEEP WRITING!

mirrani:

So I had this idea.... Nothing much has been going on here.. mostly because the place kinda shut down as people stopped coming by... But I thought to get the ball rolling again, I'd maybe start a story someone could continue... This wouldn't require a picture to be edited and uploaded and it'd be kinda interesting to see where it goes from here...

To participate, just create a new post and and make sure that you title it "The Balloon -(#)- 'your chapter title here'" ... and we'll keep going until we've decided it's over. :) This gives people a chance to reply to each chapter individually, rather than creating a large string of posts as replies. It should be easier to read and easier to reply to this way. And it's your own chance to shine in the spotlight. :)



The Balloon -(1)- A Cry for Friendship

There had to be something better than this. Cash stared at the blank paper in front of her desk, looked around the room, then frowned back at the paper again. "Get a partner and together write a greeting to the stranger who will find it." There was a place for the name of each participant. One blank read Acacia Johnston, the other was an empty line.

What did you need a partner for anyway? Cash looked up at the room, just to see if the teacher had noticed she had been left to do the work alone. He hadn't. All the other kids had dashed off to their friends and she sat alone against the wall of the room, watching from a distance. Finally he came over.

"We had an odd number of people today," he tried to explain to her. She knew what he was doing. Trying to keep her from focusing on how excluded she had been at this terrible school. She hated it here. "You can make a group of three if you want."

"Can't I just do it on my own?"

Mister Richards glanced around. "Wouldn't do any harm," he smiled and turned away. Cash already knew what she was going to write and the instant he had turned his back, the words flew out of her pencil and onto the page.

***

An hour later the class was gathered outside, every pair of students held a balloon. To the end of the strings were tied the messages they had composed together. Cash stood away from the excited group, clutching to the string of her emerald green sphere. She had read and reread the card over and over again to make sure that there were no mistakes, to be sure that she would know what she'd said, in case someone did answer. Even so, she peeked one more time at the sand-colored note.

The typed text came first. "To the finder of this balloon, Our school is participating in the great balloon release. We are trying to meet new people and would like to hear from you. Please send a post card to the address below so we can see how far the balloon has traveled. Thank you."

She read the words in her own handwriting next. "Hello new friend. I am nine years old. Please tell me there is something better than this. Your new friend, Acacia."

Cash heard the count given and on three let go of the bright yellow string; a ray of sunshine attached to her beautiful, magical emerald. She turned her face upward, but had eyes only for her own balloon, praying that someone would find it... and answer. "Fly, Emerald," she told the sphere. "Find a happy home."

As one, a massive cluster of balloons drifted away into the sky, followed by a single emerald green hope guided by a ray of light.

mirrani:


And thanks to Eiri for picking one out from her 'cause I couldn't... :)

mirrani:

I think that I'm going to save some of my web space for a while, until we get a better turn out.. maybe only post images once every two weeks... We can still post writing stuff, but if only two people are going to respond to the pictures, I figure we can wait two weeks for that.

Ideas?

cedargrove:

I don't know why I chose this subject matter except that it was sunny and warm, and I wanted something... interesting... something for us to get our teeth into... and for other reasons, I guess. I don't know. Anyway, enjoy the picture, and I look forward to reading what we all write from it.

cedargrove:

I have a book called "The Writers' Idea Book." by Jack Heffron. Today I opened it at random and this is the first prompt that caught my eye.

Write a scene in which two former lovers meet after many years.

Anyone up for that challenge?

mirrani:
jam
mate
zine
zoo
orb
rite
view
wait
tag
valued
value
toy
comet
mope
dance
piled
if
yore
sir
sire
or
ear
axe
rake
kings
king
nuns
shone
safe
fee
bugs
bold
bolder
ruin
hi
hale
stance
rated

mirrani:

I thought I'd do something different this week and I made a sort of cartoonish graphic of an odd shape. I thought it'd bring a new aspect to things... since the rainbow shaped picture turned out differently and it worked for me that it did, I thought this might do something too.. Who knows. I probably won't do many like this and if I do another one I'm certainly going to use my own editing program so I know how it'll turn out.

cedargrove:
Here is the next picture... absent mindedly forgotten to be posted before now. I personally like this one a lot.