With the release of my first novel THE LOST SPARK and the premiere of my new creator comic JIRNI both coming in April, I am afraid my schedule hasn't allowed for much blog time. Something I hope to change going forward. I mean, what's the point of having a blog site if you don't blog?
Being on the verge of having new stories published is an awesome feeling, but today I want to talk about my least favorite aspect of the life of a writer - in part because today was one of those days for me. Now, let me start off by saying this is not meant to be a pity party or a call for accolades. This is merely my attempt to share another aspect of writing - part of the dirty, messy underbelly that some never mention.
Some days, I suck at writing. Sure, detractors might say - Hell, JT, everyday is one of those days, but I digress. The morning begins like any other. Drop the kids off at school, grab a cup of decaf, and settle in with my laptop for another day of writing. The only problem is no matter what I write, it's terrible. Everything seems trite and forced and false. Just blah. I type and erase and type and erase all day long, and at the end of four or five hours have little to nothing to show for it. It's so infuriating.
The whole experience can make one feel like a fraud and a failure. I literally hate every word I type and hate myself even more for wasting my time on such drivel. It's feels hopeless. But it happens. Maybe not to everyone. Some writers might love each and every letter that spills from their precious minds - like unique and wondrous snowflakes falling from the sky. Their fingers move like a master pianist over the keyboards painting lyrically, building worlds and moving hearts with ease.
And here I am in the darkened corner, mashing the keyboard with angry stumps, bloodied and raw. You see, I've cut my fingers off long ago out of pure and utter frustration. For the moment, every night is dark and stormy, and every character is lost and wandering like writer struggling blindly to find the right metaphor. It's brutal because you feel like you alone are responsible for murdering the characters you claim to love so much.
Even now, these words feel like a festering pile of hyperbole - ginned up for added drama. But that's how it goes.
Luckily, I was able to pull free from the black hole of creativity and make some progress in the right direction. Not nearly enough, but progress nonetheless. And for the time being, that will have to be good enough. I can chastise myself more if I feel the need, but the honest truth - the inescapable truth - is that tomorrow brings another opportunity to do it right or do it wrong.
So, I'll go sleep and pray it'll be right.