Ideas are Vapors in My Mind

Fairyhedgehog posted about avid reading on her blog. The post is HERE. I commented on the post, bragging about my ability to come up with thousands of story ideas - without actually having written them.

Now I find myself wondering how much of an exaggeration - or minimization - that was. How many story ideas do I come up with in a day anyway? Not how many do I write. Writing a story can take ten, twenty or even a hundred times as long as reading it.

But last year I managed to write a lot. Including poems (which in my case are very short stories) I wrote 111 projects, finishing 97. That's about a story idea every four days. But how many ideas do I actually come up with? And coming up with ideas - does it prove anything? What?

I think I may begin a journal of story ideas I come up with this year. Since it looks like I'm not going to be able to write nearly as much as I desire I will be regulated to imagination only. It's a fun place to be, but it's hard to revisit ideas and enjoy them the same as before.

And should I include story ideas I have that I haven't started? How do I go about tracking this I wonder? I have no misgivings whatsoever about predicting at least 500 story ideas over the course of a year. I might even be able to double that. Talk about bold, huh? But coming up with an idea is easy. Writing it is HARD. Time consuming. It's hard for the work to keep up with the ideas. And when better ideas show up work often stops.

How about you? Do you come up with a lot of ideas - but fail to actually write them? How many do you get? How many do you actually try to write?

I Confess: I Don't Feel Like Writing Anymore

I have been attempting to write - but I have been accomplishing nothing. January becomes two weeks old tomorrow and I think I have yet to write more than a few hundred words toward any story.

The inspiration, enthusiasm, motivation have all departed for places unknown. The clouds of story ideas which once filled my head have dissipated with the blow of seeing my writing time on the chopping block. I - have given up again.

Been trying to apply for the job which will kill my writing - and possibly me. It hasn't been easy. The first guy I talked to was great. He explained a lot of things and then got some basic information, which he passed on to the hiring people. These people are idiots. Or I am. Or both.

The girl (and I deliberately say 'girl' instead of 'woman' or even 'young woman') was confusing to listen to. She started a profile for me, which would be used as an application for employment. And rather than simply tell me the website to go to, she had to email it to me. Well, okay. I had it officially written down.

I go to said website and find that since the girl has already begun a profile for me, I must sign in using my username and password. Guess what the girl never told me? That's right. I didn't know my username and password. So I had to email the girl back and ask for the information.

Oh. She also said she would be sending me the email in like five minutes. It was at least four hours.

So she sends me the required information and I begin to fill out the job application online.

They want to know what high school I went to. Give me a break. I haven't attended high school since the 1970s. Who gives a rat's a*s what high school I went to?

The next section was employment history, and it is here I am stuck. Why? Because of my own personal irritation with certain questions. They not only want to know where I have worked (a legitimate request), but they want to know how much money I made while working there. What the h*ll use can that possibly be to them? And unlike the paper applications, in which I just leave those fields blank (and explain - should it be asked for - that it's none of their business), the online form will not allow me to continue without filling this information in.

So I sent another email to the girl (who had sent me an email stating I was to let her know when I had completed the form) asking just why this information was needed, and informing her that I consider it an invasion of privacy.

I suppose I have already established myself in their eyes as a regular pain-in-the-a*s and may not get the job after all. That will go over really well with Spouse. But d*mn it! It's bad enough to have to beg for a job in the first place. But to have to give up private information just because is too much. They cannot want this information for any good reason. I mean, come on! Do you know what the job is? Restocking shelves in grocery stores. Even the first guy I spoke with acknowledged it isn't rocket science. Reminds me of a Donovan song: Goldwatch Blues.

Here's a YouTube link. It's a funny song. Lyrics after the link.




GOLDWATCH BLUES
Donovan

I went up for my interview on the fourth day of July.
First old man he questioned me until I nearly cried,
Made me fill in forms until I shook with fear
About the colour of my toilet roll and if my cousin's queer.

CHROUS:

Here's your goldwatch and the shackles for your chain
And your piece of paper to say you left here sane.
And if you've a son who wants a good career
Just get him to sign on the dotted line and work for fifty
years. CHORUS.

He asked me how many jobs I'd had before.
He nearly had a heart attack when I answered, four.
Four jobs in twenty years, oh, this can never be
We only take on men who work until they die. CHORUS.

He took me outside to where the gravestones stand in line.
This is where we bury them in quick-stone and in lime
And if you come to work for us on this you must agree,
That if you're going to die please do it during tea. CHORUS.

This story that you heard you may think rather queer
But it is the truth you'll be surprised to hear.
I did not want no job upon the board,
I just wanted to take a broom and sweep the bloody floor.
CHORUS.

Transcribed by Stephen Sander
steve_sander
cacdsp.com

The Pen is Mightier Than the Computer - Sometimes

Been doing some writing with pen and paper. That's how I wrote Tavaar's backstory. I filled six writing journals during my lunch breaks when I last worked. There is a tactile satisfaction in using pen and paper to write a story as opposed to a keyboard. Of course the computer allows for multiple copies without the extra effort. And no matter how much one writes a computer always uses the same amount of physical space to keep it.

I'm trying to modify my writing style. Trying to keep myself aware of the five senses and include things like sound, taste, smell, sight and touch when describing a scene. Don't know if this will actually improve my writing or not, but it's always fun to try something new.

I will continue to write fantasy. It's my place to write. But I'm still focusing on writing new projects and not investing much time in editing. Editing (in my mind) presupposes a belief that a work could one day be published. I don't think I have any such beliefs anymore. So I will write new things and enjoy them alone.

The Broadsword Swings

Life is a two-edged sword, and so are most of the things one encounters while living it.

Everything has a price. Even winning. To achieve it one must often sacrifice other things.

For half of 2008 and all of 2009 I had the luxury of writing whenever I wanted. Well, not quite whenever. If Spouse and/or Son was around I could pretty much forget about accomplishing anything writing wise. But often Son was in school and Spouse was at work. This left me alone at the house, and eventually the apartment. The result of this wonderful free time was my most prolific time ever in writing. I wrote over 100 different things, from simple exercises to complete novels. And if I were to include blog posts the total would rise to two or even three hundred.

It was fun.

That time may now be coming to a sad end.

You see, for all the enjoyment I took in the past eighteen months, there was a price that had to be paid. That price was the absence of money. And the absence of money has meant the loss of health coverage, family trips, better food, repairs and replacements on equipment, and even the loss of our house.

At my age, with my skill set and health, it is not easy to find replacement work. And to be perfectly honest, I have not exhausted myself overmuch seeking out employment with places I know would kill my spirit. I was feeling alive again such as I had not felt since - a very long time ago.

But play time seems to be coming to an end. And with it joy time. There is every reason to believe I will get the latest job I applied for. And while this job will provide something around $200 per week wages (about $160 spendable), there is also a price to pay in having it. In my case, the price to pay is the reduction in time to write.

I have tried many times (and still attempt it) to write when Spouse and/or Son are around, but the simple truth is neither of them respect my writing time and feel free - even obligated - to interrupt me while I am writing. For those of you who write you know the time required to 'get in the flow'. A one or two minute interruption can result in a lost of fifteen or twenty minutes in writing. And if one is being interrupted every ten to fifteen minutes that can mean no writing at all. And so it has been for me.

If I get this job, and right now it appears I will, I will lose three of my five writing days. And the two which will remain will be separated by days.

So I will earn upwards to $1000 each month. Around $700 spendable. If we simply used the money to keep up with the rent and not buy insurance or better food I could probably replace the computer within a year. But to what end? If I'm not writing anything, who really gives a damn. Right?

Most of my stories have happy endings. Not all, but most. Why can't my life have one? It's turning out just like I feared. I'll never write anything that matters. And so there will be no point or purpose to me.

Life sucks. And then you die.

What I'm Doing

Well, I have begun writing something. It's not going as fast as I want, but then I'm letting myself get distracted a lot.

We'll see how it goes.

That's the problem with writing on inspiration. Without it, or with it distracted toward something else, writing doesn't take place.

Depending on how next week goes I may be writing more and more as time goes on.

We'll see.

No Progress Yet

Not achieving any progress toward my writing goal. I've managed a single poem and a little more, but nothing of significance. I doubt I've written even so much as 5,000-words yet. Not to worry. Yet. I write on inspiration and feeling more than dedication and resolve. When inspiration strikes I can easily put together five and ten thousand word days.

What I have been doing thus far is wasting my time with computer games. They're an excellent time waster. One can play for hours and accomplish literally nothing. Sometimes that's exactly what one needs to get one going. It's like recharging.

I've got a lot to write and I'm hoping the Muses will complete their holiday soon. Then I shall write up a storm.

Until then - I waste time.

Turning Up the Heat

Stories. Sometimes they come easily. Sometimes they don't.

Right now my thoughts are swimming with story ideas. I want to write, but no single idea wants to jump up and be taken. Kind of like watching popcorn kernels in a popper. Sooner or later you know one is going to explode. The tension mounts as you wait.

That's what it will be like. One story idea will POP! And then they all will. My task is to try and keep up with them all. Good luck to me.