#writer's blockade

[electric-powered-moofingham]

I have an hour long science tutoring session's notes to write.

I am completely stumped as to what to write about.

o_O

[electric-powered-moofingham]

The unthinkable has happened,

I... worked on a fanfiction.

ME.

I wrote something. Three whole paragraphs from a fanfiction I hadn't touched since.... 2011. The last part of the chapter is finished. I can start a new one. A new chapter.

I am... beside myself with the sudden freedom. Of course, going back to read it, I think my voice has changed over the years, but WHATEVER!

Madness. Sheer lunacy.

[senorsegway-blog]

Distressing Discovery

I'm not sure, on initial analysis, how many people will understand just how or why I find my discovery distressing. Furthermore, I'm not entirely sure if I should be troubled at all by what I've realized. Nonetheless, I am both sad and bit distraught by my current dilemma.

Being a writer has never been a constant in my life, or at least, I've never been able to make it a constant. Something always holds me back--I'm sure it comes from within myself--because I'm never comfortable wearing the writer uniform. I know a few people with ink for blood, and though they may not exactly be published authors, some of them have been following their passion in some form since a time long before I even realized that I also had that passion. I feel less than worthy to complain about my writing, or lack thereof as of late, since I haven't been as dedicated to the task as others have been, and I'm not referring to the quality or quantity of words written or ideas conceived. I'm referring to the dedication to being a writer in general--that driving force that makes some people willing to give up comfort and security to pursue their dream.

I guess you could say that I am a coward. I am able to admit that I lack the balls to give up looking for a well-paying job with which to pay my bills and support myself in order to focus on a craft that has no guarantee of fiscal stability, or that I have made the job search a dominating priority. As such, it would seem, writing has been placed on the back burner. Since I am a person with a lifelong disability with which to contend, not to mention living in a society that has an ever-rising cost of living, it's more than a little obvious that I will need a steady source of income to merely survive in a functioning capacity--namely having transportation and living arrangements conducive to being in a wheelchair and additional health concerns. With that in mind, it's not practical for me to take such a risk on my personal security to entertain my potential success as a writer, that success being contingent on me actually producing something refined and polished enough to broadcast.

So this discovery that I mentioned before I stared babbling about my bullshit... what's really bothering me: justified or not, I've allowed my muse, my voice, to be silenced. I have intentionally gagged and blindfolded my creative well and locked it inside a cupboard. The worst part of this seemingly insignificant-on-the-grand-scale-of-what's-important realization is that I am totally justified in holding a gun to the left temple of the little guy that sits at the typewriter in my head and forcing him to be quiet, especially when you take into account my above aforementioned bullshit. I've never been big on the idea of taking risks, and maybe that's my real problem. Still, this makes me incredibly sad, because there is a large part of me that wants to be an important writer, or at the very least, effective and affective.

I don't bring this up very often (on here, at least) because, like I said, I don't feel like my track record demonstrates sufficient effort on my part to be the writer I want to be, and therefore, I shouldn't be allowed to complain about my lack of success or inability to pursue said craft with desired fervor. I've been working on this blog post for twelve days so far, and now that 2013 has finally arrived, I shrugged and gave the final pushes needed. I'm feeling these things, and like it or not (me and everyone reading), I'm going to get them off my chest and put them here. I've spent enough of my time debating this issue in my own head-space. It's crowded in there, and everything rolling around upstairs is beginning to sound like a broken record.

Since the beginning of my preparing this post, I've been invited to participate in a weekly writing challenge group/club/thing. I've already completed my first week's challenge, and it felt really good to release some of that pent up creative energy. I've given some thought about whether to post my challenges here, and I haven't come to a decision if/how I will do that. But maybe, just maybe, this is exactly what I need to face the suppressed writer inside of me and figure out just how much of my life I am willing to let him control.

Bear with me y'all. -Johnny