I was watching a bad teen talk show once where the young hosts advice from successful adult professionals in various fields. One of the teens was a young woman who expressed dreams of being a writer, of penning the "Great American Novel." The sucker she found was a quirky guy in Portland who boasted several self-published books. His advice to the aspiring novelist consisted of bland encouragements, banter of following dreams, and vague truisms. I said to the sojourning girl, or rather the TV screen, "Why don't you just quit this stupid soul search and actually do some writing?"
Well, why haven't I sat down and done some writing? Since the beginning of June, it's been rough. I've slept in a lot, I've slouched bloated on the couch watching outrageous crime investigation shows, and I've kind of forgot that I think I'm creative and that I have interesting ideas.
I have been reading, however. The last three weeks I spent reading In Cold Blood, expressing to Jeremy how much I enjoyed reading and learning about crime stories. It's true. If you are Jeremy or one of the three members of the "Ms. Tery Club," you know how obsessive I can get over episodes of 48 Hours Mystery, Dateline NBC Mystery (with Keith Morrison as the host), and American Justice. Jeremy's response to my fascination with the subject was "You should write stories like that."
Yeah, I should, huh? I'm totally capable of it. I've had ideas, both for fiction and nonfiction pieces either about or inspired by true crimes. So, beyond some still-cerebral ideas and notes, why haven't I done it yet?
First off, I've never been one for some habits. Exercise, meditation, hobbies, writing -- I do them all sporadically. I'm not consistent. See: frequency of this blog. I don't know how to change that except practice. Ugh, is it really that easy?
Second off, I get bored. That's closely related to the former as an answer to why I'm not consistent. Take practicing for the upcoming SF Marathon 5K. About ten to fifteen minutes in to what should be about a thirty minute run, I'm bored. I get annoyed. My body turns on me by spiking up the pain levels. F words are thrown about in my head.
Third off, actually I think it might be a focus thing. If I can't focus, I don't have endurance. I'll get bored easily and quickly. With good practice comes focus. Yikes. Okay.
So, I ought to take my own advice, right? Why don't I just stop whining and actually write?
Probably because I actually think I suck at it. And, I think that the girl in the TV show felt the same about her writing.
Well, regardless of whether or not I'm actually good or bad, I should seriously just stop whining and actually write. Step one is now here. What is step two?
I think maybe it's to propose longer pieces to publications so that I have deadlines? Just do it, a la Nike? I don't know.
What do you think? Is this writer's block or a testament of my lack of talent?
