I pace. I snap. I whine. I am generally a melodramatic brat, which is probably no fun for the people around me as it leads to me whining about how my ancestors are wailing and gnashing their teeth and saying that I am bringing ultimate dishonor down upon the family name. (I don't know how I get to these places in my head, I just often do.)
And more than anything else, I stare at the blinking cursor in word. I stare at it so long that it seems like it's sending me morse code messages -- probably things like 'BUY MORE BROCCOLI' and 'DRINK OVALTINE'. (I have been feeling the cravings for broccoli lately...yummy yummy yummy.)
I go crazy, like an addict, looking to get a fix. It's actually almost troubling, how much of a visceral reaction I have to not being able to write. I'm virtually incapable of being good humored about it, because the words are there, they're under my skin, they're coiling around me, and through me, and there are stories whispering in my ears, and God how I love telling them.
This is my Midnight Disease, as Michael Chabon would call it. Some nights, I just stay up and stare into the darkness, and I can see people and places and things, and words fitting neatly together into sentences that I pile into paragraphs.
Story telling is like building for me. I work my way up from the foundation, and when I watch myself write, when I watch the story just happen on paper, it's as though I'm watching construction.
It's a physical experience for me. Writing isn't cerebral and abstract, it's very hands on. I wade into myself, and I try to catch something pull back out. It's something I do with my whole self, and so when I can't do it -- it's like a dolphin not swimming, or a German shepherd not having a task to complete. (Do you know they'll get really depressed if they don't have things to do every day? Yeah, I just found that out. Weird, huh?)
But this is why I call myself a writer. Because this is my compulsion. This is what love and I feel a lot of the time like this is what I was meant to do, and maybe not in some ridiculous cosmic 'This is what I was born for' kind of way, just -- my life, and my chemistry have turned me into someone who needs to be able to tell stories.
In a few days, I'll probably be through the block. I'm like that; I go through slow times that drive me utterly batshit crazy (and probably lyra_sena crazy, too, because she has to deal with me) and then I burst back into productivity.
Until then, I'm going to try not to bring ultimate dishonor on my family. I'm not sure how I'll go about doing that, but I figure it's a pretty good plan, all told. *grins*