Saturday, October 27, 2007

Brought to you by the phrase 'Fuck me'

I want to write something and I keep trying to write it - something semi-decent and not quite so daily planner - but it won't flow despite how I chip at it and hammer it and scream and cry at it. Literary frustration is every bit as bad as sexual frustration and it's beyond cruel to suffer them simultaneously.

7 comments:

TimT said...

Starting is always the hardest bit, so maybe cheat and skip forward to write a middle section? What is it, though - an at-length article, story, novel, or five-book litany of your past loves?

JahTeh said...

Write about pr0n, that ought to take care of both.

Caz said...

Oooh, see, you're just going about it the wrong way.

All that chipping, hammering, screaming and crying is only ever going to get you a new sideboard, or perhaps a charming coffee table.

Put down the hammer and try pen and paper, or even the keyboard and a Word document.

And none of that screaming and crying business: it frightens the vowels away.

nailpolishblues said...

I start to wonder if you're psychic, Tim. Something like only not quite the last one - more imaginary than real and more now than past.

JahTeh, I write shit porn and not in an appeal-to-some way just really really bad.

Caz, alas word did not help nor did pen and when it flowed I was without either and far too sleepy to write.

Dan said...

I feel you. I can't write for shit. There have only been like three times I've written something that I like. My friends tell me I'm too hard on myself. Alas, it seems damn near impossible to sit and write something anymore. I'll have some fantastic fucking idea, sit down, and it vaporises. None-too-pleased.

Keep trying though. You know, since I'm such a downer. Someones gotta take the slack up.

nailpolishblues said...

Dan, I've been reading some of my archives and have been surprised by myself. Which is not to say that it was fantastic but it wasn't complete crap though, of course, too hasty and in need of work. Whatever I had then seems to have run off to be with someone else though.

I think it's just being exhausted by life. Too much energy wasted on work and lives and the words evaporate in the meaninglessness of everyday. This is possibly why I wrote so much about the banailty of every day life. My life. It might be crap but it's something, right?

Dan said...

The house of your mind has only so many rooms. When too many facets of life move in, there isn't room for your creative being to take up room and kick his/her feet up. Work is too busy bumping elbows with Sexual Frustration while brushing teeth. Money Woes is burning bacon in the kitchen.

Anyways, I'll take it you get the point. When something in life "moves out", creativity can move back in. Either that, or a drunken idea will bust in one day, defile the microwave and abuse the walls, and split without paying for damages. That's what usually happens to me, which is my writing is so spontaneous and crazy.