If we’re honest, us writers tend to be a little on the obsessive side. We get an idea, a character forms, and before we know it, we’re tits deep in 30,000 words of wordish vomit. We swim in it like it’s a jacuzzi with naked waiters continuously handing out glasses of champagne. No one wants to get out of that jacuzzi, I know I sure as shit don’t.
But sometimes, after you’ve been chucking up the good kind of word vomit (the one that’s rough round the edges but makes pretty pictures in the middle) all of a sudden it stops. Then you’re pouring out illegible turds, minus the glitter and shine.
Something’s broke. Really broke. It’s not writers block, because the words still come. Only now they’re turd-words instead of smothered with genius literary butter.
Now, no matter what you do, the pretty word vomit won’t come back. So what do you do? If you’re anything like me, you either:
- Beat yourself with a pen chain and spiral bound notepad until your face is pitted with imprints or
- Fall into a deep pit of self-deprecating writerly hatred
Neither of which are particularly effective at producing anything other than obscure shaped bruises. Trust me.
I had to try something new… So today, is less of a crazy lesson with bookish explanations and crude examples, and instead a lesson I’ve learnt through experience on my writing journey. Continue reading