I've been trying to figure this out about myself. I haven't been writing lately, and I really haven't been writing fiction. Why? Yes, yes, I realize that I should dredge up the discipline to write even when I don't want to, but why don't I want to? I persevere with gardening and sewing and other things; why don't I persevere with writing? Theory One: My job, which is mostly brain work, has for the past few years been increasingly splintered brain work. I've written two metaphors of what it's like since starting this post, and deleted them. The main point is that the intellectual part of my brain has been trained to see "brain work" as a complete and utter waste of time, because it never, ever, ever gets the reward of actually being able to accomplish something. It's burned out, a smoking....something-or-other. So when I ask it, on its off hours, to write a novel or a story, it says, "Why the hell should I ever trust you again?" Sewing and gardening and cooking all have immediate rewards (and no committee that asks me to fill out a multi-page document justifying my decision to slipstitch rather than topstitch a hem), so the burned-out intellect will condescend to help alter a pattern or lay out vegetable beds. Discussion on this forum has the reward of return discussion, or sometimes people being pleased if I've said something helpful. But a novel or even a short story, which will likely be an exercise in increasing my skills toward a someday goal, looks too much like my job, and my intellect, like a snubbed cat, runs away and sits down with its back to me. This in fact relates to something that @jannert said a while ago--the theory that I may be better at helping other writers than at my own writing. Maybe it's not what I'm better at, but what that angry intellect is willing to do. Theory Two: My mother wanted to be a writer. My mother was self-centered and narcissistic and emotionally about three years old, even if intellectually she got through an Ivy League college. She would have been furious if I'd had any writing success. When she died, I found some of my writing drive gone. I suspect that some illogical part of my brain feels obliged to fail at writing, to respect my mother's desire to be the only writer in the universe. Theory Three: I dunno. ---- So. Why don't you write, when you don't?
Too long of a delay for gratification, and too little chance of gratification actually occurring. So... pretty close to your point number one, without the "splintered brain" part. Anyone whose main goal in writing is publication/sharing/having readers/whatever is taking a hell of a big chance of spending a HUGE amount of time on something that never gets read, or gets read but not enjoyed. Writing a novel, especially a first novel, is a huge leap of faith. This probably isn't true for people who write just for their own enjoyment as they're writing. But I'm not one of those people, not by a long shot.
Theory One: My job-job has me in front of the screen typing all day. Translation, translation, translation. Extradition response from the Republic of Colombia written by someone who clearly worships Cervantes. Who the fuck talks like this? Response to the response from the AUSA (ADA) in San Juan written in equally obfuscated English that I then have to translate into baroque Colombian Legalese! Eyes grow small and pickled. Carpel tunnel is threatening. Brain feels like I drove from Atlanta to Miami and back at 75 mph in 2nd gear. Now, what was that brilliant idea I had about my MC Brenn this morning? No idea. It's gone and all I want is a bath and some mind-numbing TV. I've only got one theory. I'm pretty sure it's correct.
Time. My fulltime job is 2 cities over, which means a 10 hour workday padded with two 1 hour bus commutes. I get plenty of reading in, but it's 12 hours. Plus I need to take care of my health, which is 1 hour of workout. An hour of cooking and eating and showering, and I have 2 hours left to socialize with my family and take care of 'desk stuff'. An example of desk stuff was that yesterday I needed to bid on a birthday gift for my wife on eBay. This weekend looked good for writing, but then the bathroom exhaust fan started sounding like a 747 was bolted to the privvy wall, my wife broke the back gate latch somehow, and my mom says she can't remember to cut and paste, a phonecall didn't jog her memory, could I drive an hour over to her place and back and show her again. So Saturday's shot. Sunday I volunteer with an organization that takes the handicapped on outdoor daytrips, but it's two cities over, so with shopping on the agenda, I don't see much writing getting done on that day either. And then it's back to work on Monday.
The more intense the thinking and writing I have to do at work, the less I feel like writing fiction when I get home. For that reason, I try to do writing in the morning, before work.
Mostly two things. One is some kind of creative energy and intellectual juice that seems to need time to replenish. The other is lack of discipline. That went to shit when I became an adult.
Between depression and a sense of purposelessness are massive demotivators. Kinda hard to feel like writing when you feel like shit, and trying to figure out how you are going to make through to the next month.
Funny, I have the opposite problem just now. I feel like writing. Or, at least, rewriting. I don't feel like finishing the current renovations on my house, and the downstairs has been in utter chaos since last July. Let me set my laptop on the pile of unopened mail on the dining room table and give me a clear place next to it just big enough to put a small luncheon plate and a cup of tea, and I'm happy. Which, in the present state of things, is a foolish thing to be. EDIT: I got into an I Don't Want to Write jag last summer when I had to come up with a beta-reader response to a friend's novel. The task seemed too much like writing a college essay, and essays, by definition, are a plague and an affliction and are to be put off as long as possible. It didn't help that I thought the novel needed a lot of work and I dreaded telling her so.
Well, I don't know about the mother thing. I had a weird, unpleasant, controlling and abusive mother myself, but I take great satisfaction in having actually written a whole novel (she always claimed she could, but never actually did) but also in writing stuff she would have given me hell for. And of course nothing would ever have pleased her, so I wouldn't even try. But I realized long ago that she was the weird one, not me. Annoying/competing with/pleasing my mother is not what motivates me at all. She is LONG gone from my life. I just love making up stories, or rather making up characters and following them around. I always have. I'm wondering what your biggest block is, @ChickenFreak . It might well be your job, which sounds ...overwhelming. At least in terms of using the brain. It's very difficult to be creative with writing when your brain (like @Wreybies knows) is so scrambled by the day job, and feels all used up. This is where working in a more physical, less mental job has benefits, even if it doesn't pay as well. It's easy enough to make time to write, though. You can get up several hours before you need to go to work. Just go to bed correspondingly earlier at night. I used to set my alarm for 4am when I was still working ...and wrote while my brain was fresh from sleep. It gave me something to look forward to every day. However, what is difficult is freeing your creative brain from 'stuff.' I used to lie in bed at night and early in the morning and dream up my story. Now? I just worry about Brexit, Donald Trump, and various other seemingly unsolvable problems that I can't affect, but will definitely affect me. And if those things fail to keep me distracted, well there's always the stuff I need to do or spend our dwindling savings on. Clear crap out of the house, get the garage rebuilt, get the house re-wired, figure out a way to get the grass cut when it never stops raining, figure out what kind of computer I'll need to get when this one dies ....it's not dying, but it WILL ....etc etc etc. Getting the picture here? Insurmountable, complicated modern problems, coupled with a real despair about the future in general. I'm not a depressed person, but I am beginning to sense what depression must do for people's energy and creativity. The one thing that does work for me is walking. I mean the kind of long walk where you don't need to think about where you're going (I mean the direction and destination, not where you're putting your feet—do mind that!) Best if it's somewhere you won't run into people you know, or have to stop to negotiate lots of traffic, etc. It doesn't need to be a beauty spot. Just a quiet spot. I'm amazed at what my brain does while I'm walking. I always take a notebook with me and scribble down anything that might help. Story ideas, snatches of conversation ...and the big one—story problem solving. Most of my 'eureka' moments come when I'm walking. However, that kind of went to hell a few years ago when I injured my knee. I've had to be careful with it ever since. It's okay, and I get around well, pain-free. But it'll never be what it was, and I am reluctant to start the daily long walk routine again. However, maybe in another month or so, when the danger of icy sidewalks is past, I'll try again. I need the boost. I have one niggly chapter that still needs some revisioning. So, in short, I dunno either. Maybe you're just needing a break from feeling that you ought to be writing? It sounds as if you do a lot else. (The handcrafts are a great idea, too. I don't really do those at the moment, but I've got lots of ideas for them as well.) Good luck, anyway. You are a very valued member of this forum, and your ability to generate exactly the right example every time is amazing.
@ChickenFreak, whatever happened to that story about the little girl in the garden that belonged to her aunt, but the girl wanted to cook, and there was a guy that showed up to interview for some kind of job, and . . . ? I meant to write you a crit for that and thought about it a lot. Maybe I should pull up that Workshop thread and do it. Might that spur you on, if you want to be spurred, that is? One thing I'm doing to make sure I can keep writing is refusing to take grade school sub teaching jobs. I love the kids at that age, but gah! how do El Ed teachers do it? They go and go and go all day long with little or no respite. I can't take it. My head would be so full of grade school curriculum and infantile crises it wouldn't have a single cubic inch left for creative work.
Yes! Critique my stuff! Woo! That story (Tulips and Butter) is likely to be combined with my two other novel ideas--a Coriolis Effect/Tulips and Butter/Shuteye combination. The pieces are slowly revolving in my head, and might form a plot eventually. But I should be WRITING them and, meh, I'm not. The last bit I wrote was a dream that the Shuteye guy had, in which the little girl appeared. It's all getting a bit surreal.
See, I was never really praised to be proud of hard work. I was only praised for the result of my efforts, not for putting in the effort itself. That result was rarely good enough for the authority figures in my life, even when I gave it my all. When I can't get into the groove and enjoy writing for it's own sake, I feel my efforts will only result in something less-than-perfection and so I draw the "why try in the first place" conclusion. Also I have depression, and that's a whole 'nother bucket of issues that I won't ask for advice for here (I got a therapist for that ) But I sincerely enjoy writing when I get in the right frame of mind and actually *do* write. If that despair continues without any sort of interruption or happy moments over a period of about two months without a real singular reason, or when everything starts feeling like a begrudging obligation rather than something you want to do, I'd say bring it up with a therapist just to check for depression. Not saying you have it or anything but it's good to get a check up when you think something may be wrong, like a cold or flu.
I go through dry spells of not being as interested in actually writing, whether it's because I'm plotting instead or occupied with other things, but the main obstacle is recurring, debilitating self-worth issues. I haven't been writing lately because I've gotten too in my head about it and demoralized - I convince myself I'm not any good at it, wasting my time, etc, so I don't write for a while because it just triggers the negative thoughts and feelings. Never really worked out a solution for that; it's always just eventually passed on its own. Sometimes I think about how productive I could be if not for it, though.
I more or less stopped writing when I met my boyfriend 5 years ago. Because I felt like he would judge me for my skill or the contents of what I was writing. When I finally put those fear to sleep I wrote some again, but just a few snippets here and there. Then came my meds which has left me with concentration issues. ME? My concentration has always been tip-top before! Better than anything! Now... well, I have a hard time picking up a book. Or write, for that matter. Both of which makes me drift further away from actually writing anything ever again. Though I'm getting of my meds at the moment. And while my brain is more or less mush right now, I hope that things will go back to normal. Self doubt. But on a sunny note: I finally got down an over all plot to my current project. I've had the idea for ages, but I just got most things to click. I hope this will lead to some sort of motivation to power through my issues. I'm doing my first real and detailed outline. Partly so I won't have to start the dreaded writing, partly because once I whipped myself enough the writing probably will go smoother.
This. I write for a day job, so by the time I get home I don't have much left in the tank. Or this. I go through a pretty regular cycle of writing intensely for a few months and then losing all interest in it for a few months.
Or could you have been subconsciously trying to compete with your mother, prove her wrong, show her that she's not the only writer and not the best - only now she's dead, the competition is gone. Whether you write, whether you're good, there's no longer any consequences. There's no winning anymore, because she's dead. Just a theory. For myself, I don't write when I have no idea where it's going. If I don't know what I am writing towards, I lose drive and get bored. Ironically, I don't find writing itself difficult - it's mostly quite easy. Plenty more work to do on my writing, of course, but I'd say I'm half-decent even now. No, my curse is mostly a lack of ideas, a lack of any sense of how to develop one beyond the premise. I get characters and premises and openings just fine - it's how to continue after the first 1000 words, or 10k words, that has me stumped
Weirdly, I was about to come on and make a similar post... It's something that's been plaguing my mind lately. Last weekend whilst lying in bed I came up with an idea for a book that I wanted to start, and for the first time in a very very long time, I was so excited by it and what it was becoming in my head, I couldn't sleep. I woke up shattered on Monday but decided that this weekend (now) would be when I'd sit down to write something and make a start, even just to plan it out a bit more and work out the technical stuff that didn't make sense/wasn't right in my head. Tuesday I went to my creative writing course, and we were given 10 minutes to write a page or two of something, anything, with the prompt of 'If'.... for the first time ever I wrote in first person, liked what I'd written and my class mates (is that the write term for a group of mature adults ha!) liked it too, with one even stopping me after to talk some more about it (this isn't a brag btw, more of a 'this is how much I liked my second idea too as someone else did).... And so I cleared my diary for today, vowed to spend a few hours on each story, whether it was actual writing, or plotting, planning, character building etc, but now i've done the house, had a shower and made a tea, i'm sat down and................ Nothing. It just seems like a massive effort that I can't take on. It may be that I'm currently battling a chest infection (emergency Dr's app yesterday resulting in antibiotics and steroids) and the result of that, with me being tired, run down and having no energy, but then I'm also wondering are my periods of mood swings and dark thoughts a bit of a problem too. I know I enjoy writing, making new characters, places, stories, twists and turns here and there, but actually getting down to write something..... Nothing doing.
Inertia, plain and simple. The longer I go without writing, the harder it is to start writing again. I also tend to work on one thing at a time, and if that thing isn't writing related, then I'm not writing. At the moment I'm writing and recording music, so prose has been off the table. If I go back to writing prose, I expect music will be off the table. Only so many hours in the day, after all. Just need to overcome the inertia. Much easier said than done.
I don't think the brain argument is a solid excuse, speaking from experience. Like @Steerpike said, you should write FIRST.
The grind of working full time for a corp, plus the complications of being a partner/advisor in a small enterprise populated by younger mostly anxious and paranoid text happy partners, while still raising a family leaves little free time. When I do have some loose, I can blurp out/phrase/jot down a thought here and there, but that is all I can manage without turning into some kind of monster. Whether it be on a forum, in an angry and/or exasperated text or live in person, I still believe that we all need to express ourselves somehow. But that in itself doesn't qualify as what I was previously able to call and recognize as real writing work. I think I am done for now, and am glad that I have written in the past. Rather read now, especially as a way to get away from anything I qualify as work.
I've been put down most of my life so I am insecure about my writing. I'm always censoring myself or doubting myself. Well, snap out of it, then, one might say. That's easy to say and harder to do. I love writing. It's my forte. It's something I feel I'm good at, I just don't have the energy, anymore. I'd rather be a shut in, to be honest. Writing and my nocturnal dreams give me an escape, but I feel a sense of doldrums, anymore, so writing no longer seems fun even though I have a desire to continue with it. I don't want to let people in anymore because I'm tired of being hurt but as a writer letting people inside your head is the whole foundation of literature. Sometimes I feel like I should button up my lip, though, and lock my heart in a box in a dusty old attic somewhere.
This is a very important question, and for me, it's got a very solid answer. No one sees what I write now. I've always had this dream of being a writer, joined writing groups from high school on-ish, but... A few years ago, I learned about flash-fiction, and found a now-defunct site called Microhorror (mods, delete if it counts as advertising, but the site is blank now). So I wrote a story for it. And it got rejected. That rejection convinced me to keep writing. That rejection let me know that there was someone reading it, someone who took a long hard (0r short quick) look at it and said, "Y'know what, Iain, we don't pay anything but the pleasure of seeing your name here, and you haven't earned that." Yup, a non-paying site that had only a one-time, non-exclusive right to electronic publication thought I wasn't good enough. So I got better. And I got published there six times before they folded. And I need to up my game. It's not fame and accolades; I don't know if I'll ever get that. It's not money; my life is a study in not maximizing my income. It's knowing, in a very selfish way, that I entertained at least one person enough to have them add their imprimatur to my work, however inconsequential that work might be. I need to up my game again.
Being worn out from the intellectually and emotionally taxing work at my day job is probably my number one reason. Occasionally I'll have a slow or drama-free day, but usually it's a clusterf*ck from the time I get in to the time I leave. I was so much more prolific while at my previous job, where I was able to do 40 hours and work in about half that time and would sneakily write during my "down" time. These days I'm lucky if I don't get to 2pm without realizing that I never ate lunch or went to the bathroom. I also struggle with balancing writing with the other activities/hobbies I enjoy. Cooking, baking, dancing, running, and strength training all take significant time, and my free time is unfortunately limited.
