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23 May 2005 @ 04:31 pm
This is a total emergency.  
I have broken my ability to write. I don't know how. I don't know when. All I know is that you say to me, "Nifra, write me something!"

And I'll write: "It was dark." and then spend hours staring at that sentence and trying very hard not to follow it with "And stormy. A dark night filled with stormy darkness. And people. There were people in the stormy darkness."

Then I'll get filled with a very intense hatred for the written word, and pout, and go read things I love, and become despondent.

I am one with the despond. I have hatred and despond. I am swimming through a lake of hatred and despond. This lake is called my writing and I have no floaties to help me swim through it.

Total. Emergency.

It seems like all I want to do lately is write autobiographical essays about the insane things that happen in my life, but that's not what I really *want* want, it's just all I can do.

What do you do when in such a quandry, gentle readers? And why do I feel the need to use the phrase 'gentle reader' incessantly these days? Riddle me that, gentle readers, riddle. me. that.
 
 
Current Mood: moodymoody
Current Music: harry and the potters - the foil (malfoy)
 
 
 
sageness on May 24th, 2005 07:16 am (UTC)
I seduce my muses. Ray likes coffee and music. Fraser likes looking at pictures of Ray, and Canada, but mostly Ray. (And due south is ALL YOUR FAULT! *snugs*) Lex likes fruit. Clark likes fresh air and holding heavy, solid objects in his hands. Lana likes to dress up in funny outfits. Tim likes to watch. Bruce likes to watch things he believes he can't have. Dick likes to fly, even though he can't. And so on. My muses don't respond to attempts to beat them into submission. I can either listen to what they're trying to tell me, or I can throw fits and get nothing done. But they're good to me when I listen. It's all they really want at the end of the day. Just to be heard and transcribed.

*pets muses*

*hugs you close*

Other tricks from the writing program:

~write an intentionally bad poem -- as dreadful as you can possibly make it. It's like pushing the sludge all out of the system at once.

~write a poem on a single subject. For instance, write a poem on summer. Then another on autumn, then winter, then spring. It helps focus your attention on one thing, rather than allowing frustration to scatter your energy.

~write something in a completely alien genre from your usual work. This could mean writing a play when you normally write fiction; or it could mean writing sci-fi when you normally write gothic romance.

Best of luck, lovely. *hugs more*