Shit. I really am coming to the realization that I just can’t–or don’t WANT to– write anymore.
But seriously, this is bad. REALLY bad. I mean, writing is my freakin’ job description. I am supposed to write articles, and get them out on time. And for months now, it’s been the hardest thing in the world to do. If I don’t get out of this funk soon, I think I could wind up fired or something. Out of work. And with a brand-new mortgage. Oh, my God. I’m really scared, the more I think about it.
The best way to be a writer, to get out of writer’s block, is to WRITE. That’s what everyone tells you. Just sit down with a blank piece of paper and write whatever pops into your head. Just do it. The act of doing it, even if you are writing nonsense, gets you back into the mindframe you need in order to pull together something that makes sense. FUCK THAT.
I’m using this blog, and my private journal-files, to do this very thing. Right now, even. This writing about not being able to write will hopefully get me going again. It’s worked before. I’ve gotten things done precisely because I blogged. Sometimes I just have to get the bullshit out of my head so I can leave it somewhere and move on to what I need to do.
At the moment, I have an unfinished article to wrap up and damned if I just can’t get my thoughts organized!! I seriously keep reading and re-reading my notes, trying so damn hard to focus and concentrate and, oh, I don’t know…come up with an outline that actually makes fucking sense and won’t result in an article that’s all over the damn place!…and it’s just not coming and I NEED IT TO. I HAVE TO FINISH THIS, NOW. Not tomorrow, not in a couple of hours. NOW.
I’ve never been this off my game in my entire life. I’ve always been writing. It was always easy for me. The easiest A in the world back in school was anything that involved writing. Book reports, essays, stories, articles for the school paper– piece of cake. One time in a music appreciation class, the teacher had us do an exercise where we listened to classical music and then jotted down the images that the music brought to mind. Well, I ran out of paper when we were listening to Rhapsody in Blue. I ended up writing a 10 PAGE story during the duration of that piece. (About a rain storm in a forest, and fairies trying to save a child stuck in the mud, and then the kid goes away and comes back years later to thank them, etc…) Whatever happened to that girl? The one who was scribbling away as the music ended, and half the class was staring at me like “what is she doing?!” I miss that girl so much.
I’ve been getting to this point incrementally for months now, though. Each article takes just a little longer than the last to pull together. LONG gone are the days of writing a full feature article–a relatively clean first draft–in about two hours. I can’t even remember how it felt to be able to do that, these days. It’s so different now, and I don’t know why!!
Did my brain change that much, that I just can’t write anymore? I know people go in and out of different phases of their lives… can that happen with skills and talents, too? Can you do something really well one day and then lose the ability the next? And if so, what does that mean? Where do you go when this happens? How do you pinpoint the next thing you might be able to try and be good at? UGH.
It’s just that I am really beginning to wonder if I am a writer anymore. I think it’s possible that I’m not. Writing has become an absolute chore. Something I dread doing, something I put off until the last possible moment. I’ll do everything else to keep from writing. I like the administrative, daily-grind kind of crap. I’d rather do data entry, something mindless, right now.
Oh, my God. I have never been so terrified about my future as I am right now. I’m serious. If I am not a writer, then what the fuck can I be?!
I just look at my friends who are writers, and I’m so jealous. My friend R can still do it, she can still pound out a handful of articles/stories in a short amount of time, and handle an entire publication by herself. The stupid writer-ex, whose book just got its own entry on Amazon because it comes out next spring, and is most definitely already working hard on his next novel. The guy at work coming up with amazing screenplay ideas and then actually writing them and entering them into competitions.
I’m just a lump of nothing next to them anymore. The only thing I’m debating now is if I should talk to my boss or not about this. I’m pretty sure that doing so would be a monumentally bad idea. I think I would be let go. She doesn’t have time to hear about someone’s stupid writing-career-crisis; she has a magazine to get out every month. I love working here so much, though. I don’t want to leave. And I certainly CAN’T afford to leave or be fired. Not now. No way in hell.
So what do I do? GOD, I wish I knew. Right now, I’m literally shaking with a chill as I realize the depth of the hole I’m staring down into. I’m not being dramatic, or anything. I seriously don’t know what to do.