Monday, September 9, 2013

My Own Fiction

I haven't been around, that's clear. I've been writing for years and every now and then, I get burned out. Tired of the creative process, of the never ending edits and revisions without an end in sight, my muse often packs up and takes the hike that I'm dying to take.

When this happens, I often find myself staring at the monitor or typing out a plethora of one-syllable words. Mental scenes still flow, but they hit a dam somewhere between the right side of my brain and my fingertips, and pool up in whatever corner of the brain words are stored. A part of me is demanding I quit this nonsense, that's it's been too long. I can't. Writing is too engrained. My imagination, too vivid.

However, I can back off, and I do when it's necessary. During those times, I write articles that need to be written and peck out scenes. I also knit, read, and take pictures, all in an effort to work out thought processes that are kinked like an outdoor hose.

In paradoxical fashion, my writing has improved. With the help of a published author who has very graciously and generously taken time out of her schedule to give me pointers because she likes my writing, my eyes have been opened to technical errors I've been making and means of fixing them. A story I'm in the process of rewriting is my best. The author working with me has yet to see it. I can't wait until she does.

But my blogs have languished. Getting back on schedule is next on my To Do list.

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