I'm writing again! Time to get on with it, I decided. 'Lay Me Restless' is progressing and 'In the Footsteps of the Behemoth' should be published in the next couple of months. It's an exciting time.
That's it for now. Expect a possible short story in the next few days.
One author's quest to have his ship pushed in the right direction.
Sunday 16 June 2013
Sunday 9 June 2013
Writer's Block
So, anyone who follows me on Twitter (the unlucky few, as I refer to them) might have noticed that I have writer's block. Not that I've mentioned it. Have definitely not brought it up... at every available opportunity... repeatedly. Okay, so maybe I've gone on about it a bit, but just a bit. Or a lot. But, and this is important so I hope you've managed to read this far, in my defence, it is very annoying.
See, I'm a writer. I write; it's who I am, it's ingrained into me. I'm also a musician. I musish (the actual verb for making music, who knew?); it's who I am. Again, it's ingrained into me. So, when I can't do one of these things, it's frustrating, because I'm not being me. Don't misunderstand, that's not all I am. I'm also sometime barista, sarcastic bastard, drunk and, on alternate Saturdays, Samantha, the stillettoed cocktail bar singer who turns men into quivering balls of sexual desire. But I try to play that stuff down.
What writer's block leads to, for me, is the search for inspiration. Trawling through my favourite albums, reading my favourite books, having intelligent (read: pretentious) conversations about symbolism in this label of wine versus this one (wait, this is a great label, but we can get two bottles of that one for the price of one of these. Great, let's get four). So, as you can see, my time is pretty much filled up with artistic stuff. This is great, there's just one problem; it's not leading anywhere. At the moment I can't even look a book. I'm reading Proust. If you want to read Proust it really helps if you look at the book. Dan Brown you can read without looking at the book. Needless to say, I'm not a huge Dan Brown fan.
So, the search for inspiration continues. Excuse me while I dive into Pearl Jam and Placebo again. What's that Proust? Not now. Soon, I promise you. Just not now.
See, I'm a writer. I write; it's who I am, it's ingrained into me. I'm also a musician. I musish (the actual verb for making music, who knew?); it's who I am. Again, it's ingrained into me. So, when I can't do one of these things, it's frustrating, because I'm not being me. Don't misunderstand, that's not all I am. I'm also sometime barista, sarcastic bastard, drunk and, on alternate Saturdays, Samantha, the stillettoed cocktail bar singer who turns men into quivering balls of sexual desire. But I try to play that stuff down.
What writer's block leads to, for me, is the search for inspiration. Trawling through my favourite albums, reading my favourite books, having intelligent (read: pretentious) conversations about symbolism in this label of wine versus this one (wait, this is a great label, but we can get two bottles of that one for the price of one of these. Great, let's get four). So, as you can see, my time is pretty much filled up with artistic stuff. This is great, there's just one problem; it's not leading anywhere. At the moment I can't even look a book. I'm reading Proust. If you want to read Proust it really helps if you look at the book. Dan Brown you can read without looking at the book. Needless to say, I'm not a huge Dan Brown fan.
So, the search for inspiration continues. Excuse me while I dive into Pearl Jam and Placebo again. What's that Proust? Not now. Soon, I promise you. Just not now.
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