Ah, January in Minnesota. Hardly any degrees outside, and sunlight for approximately eight minutes a day. The Christmas candy is gone, and my laptop is on the fritz. All the books I received for Christmas are Serious Business Indeed™ and while someday I will be nose-deep and not-to-be-disturbed into a history of the Ukraine. These past few days have not been that day.
Half my writer friend-folks are on vacation. The rest are wallowing in the same creative low as yours truly. I’m working. I’m getting words down, but there’s a little bit of drudge to it. Like, I’m a writer who is writing because I am diligent and I write through lulls. Rather than OMG*best idea ever* Wait! This baptism needs a swordfight! I love writing!
Really missing that zest. Gonzo plotting and characters who go there. It’s empowering to feel entertained and in love with my own creativity. I think that’s something that gets glossed over when writers’ block is discussed. I’ve read boatloads of advice about blocks, some of it really good. But good or bad, a lot of advice over stresses the muddling through.
I’ve proven and re-proven to my unwilling to believe self that sitting down and making writing usually re-fires my imagination. That’s 90% of winning NaNoWrimo. Just showing up so the story can find me. But, during low-creativity lulls, it’s not really the productivity that I miss, I miss operating in that snort-giggle mode of creativity where plotting and character arcs get RIDIC, but there’s enough flecks of gold in the notion that I’m brimming with the confidence that I’ll burnish the gaudy thing into pure art, that I’ll make the RIDIC sublime.
Silly, I suppose, to hope for fun all the time. It’s called the daily grind not the daily merry-go-round. And the fun half-life of a merry-go-round is probably a week, at best. More fun, is that reasonable?
I’m willing to settle for a reasonable amount of fun. I’ve done my share of muddle through, and I’ll do my future shares. I want to find ways to make the process low-key fun more often, instead of feast or famine.
Which I suppose will require some self-examination. Like figuring out why I divide writing tasks into drudge or “fun”. Or why only exceeding my expectations of myself is fun, and everything else—everything short of AWESOME is merely drudging. 99% of everything is crap, right. And I’m not a 1%-er.
All this is going to require more navel gazing than is necessary right here, right now. I’ll update if I’m struck by any mid-week epiphanies.