Stephen King separates writers into great, good, competent, and bad. Bad writers are the real stinkers, and it's easy to feel like one, not just some of the time. But when you write, and you've got that bad writer feel, it seems like forever.
I know I'm not a bad writer, small comfort that it is. I'm a competent writer. I write with some natural skill, and when I'm at my best I tune into a narrative music that flows for a while. Often I'm stopped by head banging uselessness. But when I get that feeling, man it's great. It's even there in academic writing, something no one besides over-achievers and teachers gives a shit about. But that feeling is a trap too; in school I could write a paper the night before and get an A or B, with two or three hours put in (some of it for internet game time).
But that music is in both academic and fiction writing. I like to turn over the keys and let the writer-engine burn for a while, and it worked at Wabash. It still works now to a point, cuz it excludes time - puts me in that special state of just a minute, holy Jesus, is it four in the morning? How did that happen? - and allows narrative diarrhea. For a fifty-thousand word contest in thirty days, it's gross, but I need every word I can get. And during my time on the throne, in the midst of grunting and typing I get flashes of good writing.
My goal in Nano is to extend those brief flashes, to maybe make a decent torch out of natural ability and work up from there. Even being behind, by seven-thousand words now (shee-it), I still write every day, even when I work, often till early in the morning.
My pappy is supportive, but he usually is now; it is a far cry from when he sat me down before I want off to College, looked me in the eye, and told me to give up all hope. He doesn't know shit about writing though.
But what has life been like?
Frustrating, boring, work, shows, politics, doctors, acne breakouts; it's like a party on my face and every pus-filled douche is invited. Jesus that's gross. I work and take my dad to the doctor a lot - he's half-blind and working to get the vision back in the damaged eye. Because of this life is just as it always was, but with writing till 4 A.M., the only real positive step I've made. But, being way behind in word count, Nano stats taunt me with their butthole graphs. I sort of hate my writing buddies, and one has already surpassed the weekly word goal.
No distractions except when there are. Castle Age is obsessing worthy. It has dragons, heroes, and laziness, so TKEs eat it up and I'm no different. And without DnD with Dick, Carls, Luther, and Gus I'd be too delightfully mad to write this. Also, I think we get props for intercontinental, and interstate sessions: Dick's in Africa, the other three are in Indiana, and I am in Ohio.
What really sustains me is I'm going home for the Monon Bell game next weekend. Seeing family - even the new freshmen - makes me happy. Yelling terrible, ancient curses in the tongue of the Old Ones at Depauw is great. I suggest everyone try it.
Late Facts: posting to a blog gives a false, but nice, sense of having done something, especially for an aspiring writer.