I can’t claim writer’s block, not really. I can claim lack of discipline, a sclerotic decay of my drive to produce fiction, but it isn’t a block.
So I got a good job after a very long spell of bad ones. It is a job that fits within my educational background, and one that I greatly enjoy. Good pay, good benefits- all that. Now it is one year on and I haven’t written more than a paragraph in a sitting since I got here. Could it be that I am one of those wanna-be romantics that need suffering to produce? I am really happy these days. Do I so lack in discipline that without 20 hours of writing time available each day I can’t produce a poem? I do often get home just in time to cook dinner, take a bath, do paperwork and go to bed. Is my dachshund too demanding? Well, yes he is, but he always has been.
For the longest time I told myself that as long as I was reading I wasn’t decaying as a writer- I have devoured over 1 million words since the beginning of the year (really closer to 2 million at this point), and that is done in every nook and cranny of free time I can muster. But it isn’t the same. It has been a year since I finished a story and I am in an existential crisis!
Now, usually at this point I would send a long rambling complaint and plea to Maggie Slater (+1) begging for advice, but she has her own things going on so I will ask the two of you for input. -What type of scheduling, rituals, or other tools of implementation to you employ to write, write regularly and write to “The End”?
So open call to tell me what I’m doing wrong.