What's A Romance Writer To Do?
September 26th 2006 03:49
You were all seeing me as some kind of hero (or heroine, for all the romance readers out there).
At least, I think you were.
You know, the whole 9000 words a night thing that got everybody going.
Yeah, well, I'm no hero.
Last night saw me tear about 300 words out. And it was hard, tearing those 300 words out of my soul.
There was even alcohol involved, which normally gets the creative juices flowing (see Wordophilia's recent post and comments on his last one for more about this! Yes, blatant advertising of another writer's blog, but, come on now, peoples! Your fellow writers are the only ones out there supporting you...those publishing houses, ritzy agents and fancy editors certainly aren't!).
So what went wrong? Why couldn't I write last night?
Is it that brain tumour I might have? You know the one, blocking the creative side of my mind (don't know which one; I kind of like to think both sides of my brain are creative wonderpieces), growing bigger each day and stopping me from being able to string a sentence together (yes, I'm a hypochondriac).
Or was it the exhausting weekend I've had? No, not partying (for one, I wish, for another, I'm no longer 18) - Miss Toddler has been sick again, and I think this latest episode has sucked all the creative out of me.
Normally, in a depressed mood, I write even better - perhaps why I hang on to anything bad in my life, because it helps me to write (whole other post should be dedicated to this!). My writing, in a truly ironic twist, normally kicks ahead, kicking butt (like my heroines), when other aspects of my life truly suck. When bad times fall upon me.
Not this time. No, I just get hammered with the worry, the stress, the worry, the pain of seeing my little girl ill, the worry, but no brilliant writing out of it.
There was loads of things to inspire me, too. Like the late night jaunt to the emergency room on Friday night, and seeing all the supposedly worried fathers crowded around the TV, watching the semi-grand final.
No kids in sight - they were in the actual emergency room, apparantly.
I wondered, while we waited, what had happened to them. I imagined all kinds of horrible scenarios - children now legless, horrific incidents involving cookie jars...I could go on, but that truly horrible imagination of mine would disturb us all. And I write romances...perhaps I should try my hand at horror?
Anyway. All those kids, all those horrendous injuries (and let's not forget that child that didn't get that cookie after all that trouble)...and their daddys are out in the waiting room, cheering over the Broncos winning.
There's a whole novel there. You know the one - 'I'm so screwed up as an adult because of that time I had to have my hand surgically removed from the cookie jar, and Daddy was too busy watching a footy game.'
But, no, I can't write about that. That has nothing to do with the three million romance books I'm currently working on.
That beer I had last night didn't help, either (thank you, Carlton United. Alcohol is supposed to equal one hell of a night writing! Thanks for nothing!).
Sigh. So what's one romance writer supposed to do, when that dreaded writer's block comes a-knocking?
I can't turn to my husband. This is a romance novel, after all, not a marriage.
It has to be romantic.
Instead, I now write this post, and attack Daddys in an emergency room, alcohol-companies for not living up to a writer's expectations, and my husband and marriage.
Feeling better already. The Romance Writer (albiet with a bite) is back.
Now I might go work on that book...
At least, I think you were.
You know, the whole 9000 words a night thing that got everybody going.
Yeah, well, I'm no hero.
Last night saw me tear about 300 words out. And it was hard, tearing those 300 words out of my soul.
There was even alcohol involved, which normally gets the creative juices flowing (see Wordophilia's recent post and comments on his last one for more about this! Yes, blatant advertising of another writer's blog, but, come on now, peoples! Your fellow writers are the only ones out there supporting you...those publishing houses, ritzy agents and fancy editors certainly aren't!).
So what went wrong? Why couldn't I write last night?
Is it that brain tumour I might have? You know the one, blocking the creative side of my mind (don't know which one; I kind of like to think both sides of my brain are creative wonderpieces), growing bigger each day and stopping me from being able to string a sentence together (yes, I'm a hypochondriac).
Or was it the exhausting weekend I've had? No, not partying (for one, I wish, for another, I'm no longer 18) - Miss Toddler has been sick again, and I think this latest episode has sucked all the creative out of me.
Normally, in a depressed mood, I write even better - perhaps why I hang on to anything bad in my life, because it helps me to write (whole other post should be dedicated to this!). My writing, in a truly ironic twist, normally kicks ahead, kicking butt (like my heroines), when other aspects of my life truly suck. When bad times fall upon me.
Not this time. No, I just get hammered with the worry, the stress, the worry, the pain of seeing my little girl ill, the worry, but no brilliant writing out of it.
There was loads of things to inspire me, too. Like the late night jaunt to the emergency room on Friday night, and seeing all the supposedly worried fathers crowded around the TV, watching the semi-grand final.
No kids in sight - they were in the actual emergency room, apparantly.
I wondered, while we waited, what had happened to them. I imagined all kinds of horrible scenarios - children now legless, horrific incidents involving cookie jars...I could go on, but that truly horrible imagination of mine would disturb us all. And I write romances...perhaps I should try my hand at horror?
Anyway. All those kids, all those horrendous injuries (and let's not forget that child that didn't get that cookie after all that trouble)...and their daddys are out in the waiting room, cheering over the Broncos winning.
There's a whole novel there. You know the one - 'I'm so screwed up as an adult because of that time I had to have my hand surgically removed from the cookie jar, and Daddy was too busy watching a footy game.'
But, no, I can't write about that. That has nothing to do with the three million romance books I'm currently working on.
That beer I had last night didn't help, either (thank you, Carlton United. Alcohol is supposed to equal one hell of a night writing! Thanks for nothing!).
Sigh. So what's one romance writer supposed to do, when that dreaded writer's block comes a-knocking?
I can't turn to my husband. This is a romance novel, after all, not a marriage.
It has to be romantic.
Instead, I now write this post, and attack Daddys in an emergency room, alcohol-companies for not living up to a writer's expectations, and my husband and marriage.
Feeling better already. The Romance Writer (albiet with a bite) is back.
Now I might go work on that book...
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Comment by The Daily Sonnet
The Daily Sonnet
Lots of Sonnets
I've never been able to conquer writer's block for fiction. Either I can write or I can't. Maybe that's part of the reason why I haven't finished a full-length book yet.
Comment by K.L. Almeroth
Motherhood
Its an evil, cursed thing, that writer's block...
Normally, I'm okay. I think tonight I'll be fine...I hope!
K.L.
Comment by Antonio B
A
PS. It is true, however, that I did miss some of Miss Toddler's birth as I was watching the 2004 Olympics.
Comment by Anonymous
Maybe you should try drinking wine next time - not beer!
Comment by Adrienne
Celebrity Fox
Comment by Cathy
Fakes Frauds Fools