I’m A Bad Writer

Reserve your comments and judgements for a moment. When I say, “I’m a bad writer,” I’m not talking about my work. I personally don’t think my writing sucks and handful of people have told me that my work is decent. There’s a good chance they’re just being kind and I, of course, think my writing is pretty good but who knows.

What I mean by the above statement is that I’m not nearly as prolific as I probably should be. This is not an old thought I’ve discussed–in fact I think it’s a recurring theme on here and on my podcast. I haven’t worked on either of my “real” projects in some time. Currently I’m working on a comedic screenplay about a woman attending her ex-husband’s funeral only to learn that he hasn’t told his family he’s divorced and also a long overdue second draft of my book A Darkling Plain which is the first story to introduce the characters in my book Our Own Devils available at Amazon.com.

I’ve tried, believe me. I sit at my desk with pen in hand with every intention of punching out page after page of prose only to find myself staring at the page gasping at the depth of my stupidity and lack of talent.

I keep thinking of ways to help stoke the fires of my creative drive. One was this very blog back in the spring. It seemed like a great idea. “When I can’t get going, I’ll spew some thoughts on here to get the juices flowing and then hit a manuscript.” Well, we know how well that’s worked out.

Earlier this week I decided I should be journaling more; just have a notebook just for my personal private thoughts that no one would care to read. This, of course, implies that I think people care about what I put up here which probably ain’t too true. I bought a brand new manuscript notebook with the intention of filling it full of senseless drivel like John Doe in Se7en. It’s been with me all week. I haven’t even cracked the spine on it.

Part of the problem is my mind becomes muddled with so much other muck. I’m in the process of changing bars again. I’m doing a play for the first time in three years. I’m performing for a wedding next weekend (which I should be spending a lot more time preparing for). I have the podcast (which I should have already recorded for this week and have yet to do). I’m in the middle of reading George RR Martin’s A Song of Ice and Fire series and haven’t read that much lately and feel an obligation to do so. I might be joining a band again and my thoughts are rife with that.

So I’ve got all of this going on. That means I have zero time to relax at home, right?

Wrong. I still spend so much time vegging out in front of the TV mindlessly thumbing the remote or streaming videos on the computer. I was up at 3:30 for no other reason than I just happened to wake up then. Part of me thought, “Hey, you could use this time and quiet to do some writing!” The other part of me thought, “Yeah, but my notebooks are all in the truck so fuck that. Where’s my laptop?”

That, my friends, is why I suck.

Well, one of the reasons.

I’m sure there are many other reasons why I suck in other areas.

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