X.1

So, the insanity continues.

It isn't so much that I /want/ to do another round of 30:30, but for some reason I feel like I'm obligated to finish out an even 300 at the very least. From there, we'll see. And, I'm thinking I'll aim for a little more introspection with this 30 - see if I can't dig deeper into myself. If something is missing from my writing and my life, maybe it's me. Of course, talk to me in a week and see if we're still feeling good about this whole decision ;)

IX.30

lessons in surrender

with a nod to Michi for the title

Something is missing in my writing - I don't know what it is.


For a time now I've been struggling to bring more to my words, but with no luck. I feel like half a picture at times - you can guess at what should be there, but there really isn't any proof that you're right. I put words on the paper. I can sense the depth beneath them. I just can't reach that space. It is, quite frankly, driving me batshit.

Tomorrow is IX.30. My current dilemna is what to do next - see, I made a promise to a friend to write a poem a day for a year - though I've amended that to editing older pieces and writing prose bits. Neither of which I can do in 30:30... but I'm feeling so drained by the 30:30 process. I checked - I finished round one on July 23, 2005. I could theoretically do another round (thus ten in a year - which is 300 days + sundry false starts). I could, but I'm tired. I just don't know how much commenting I'm oblidged to do if I'm not writing there (I'm moderator, see)... as that takes up a lot of time and energy.

Goal: To submit places by the end of July. Any readers have any suggestions? All will be welcomed.

Well.

The last couple of days have been moderately fruitful as far as writing goes. I have to be thankful for that. I really am feeling like I'm ripping my own toenails out or something trying to find a bit of inspiration. Well, maybe not so painful as much as just utter and bleak emptiness. I think this writing gig is just an unusual method of self torture we've devised for ourselves. Very sado-masochistic. Here, stab yourself in the eye with a pencil. Do it again! Any other gig we'd say 'wtf? I am out of here!'. Anyways, I digress. I've gotten two pieces out that are decent enough. I'm pleased.

Only eight more to go in this round! Thank the heavens.

Alas poor Muse.. I knew her well..
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I've been bemoaning the loss of my muse in the latest 30:30 round. I suppose I can be forgiven knowing that I'm on my 9th round, but I'd rather have inspiration and a grudge if you know what I mean.

But it brings up an interesting question: when you write, how much self-editing do you do?

See, what I'm finding is that I start putting words to paper (or screen as it happens) I find myself stopping before I put a word down and replacing it with something else. Or rehearsing a line until it fits the space. And then other times I write in one great long stream that just seems to have those choices made without my conscious awareness.

I think about it alot, though - how writing becomes. Am I better at it than I was because I don't do as much hardcopy editing as I used to? Or have I just given myself delusions of capability?

How do you know if you're getting better or not? And where do you go to get better? (Okay, be honest... how many of you are snobby and already graduate your opinion of crits and such based on who gives them?)

So many questions, huh?

The Slow Downward Spiral
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(Forgive lousy formatting. No clue how to get 'titles' here)

So, today everything feels half-edged weepy. It could be PMS (tmi?), but I suspect it's more the other as I've felt it creeping up the past week. Little things keep setting me off. Something doesn't work first try - the prickles of tears settle under my lids and don't so much as threaten to fall as remind me that I'm always *this* close to falling apart. After all, it isn't so much feeling that I'm ready to cry that worries as the fact that behind that is a wash of so much more that I have no control over. So far, no crying. I feel like clouds that hang heavy and threaten rain for days on end until you pray that they would just do it and get over it already.

Sometimes I hate when I sit down to write and what comes out isn't what I had in mind. There's a certain amount of .. hesitation? Verbal constipation? Something-like going on.

That said, IX.10 today. A piece called worms - though it isn't what I'd intended at all. See, I've been thinking about growing up, and in particular visiting with my grandparents when I was young. I feel like I want to write something about that. Tonight, though, when I sat down, nothing would come. All I could think about was the stupid rain outside - three days now. Even writing about worms didn't work as I'd intended. I'd meant just to write about them simple; instead they became something else. And I wonder how often that happens to other people, and how they deal with it.

Do you school it in? Force some sort of guidelines upon it? Or do you take it as a sign from your muse that maybe there is something else going on that you need to give credit to.

Sometimes I think I know nothing at all about writing.

Wow, two months since the last update.

I've been fairly quiet both here and on lj. I think part of the problem is that I'm a bit of a down cycle and don't really have much to say. My writing has been struggling dry for some time now - I really hope that isn't some side effect of the meds I'm on (*dies*). Who knows anymore. I find I /want/ to write - I just don't seem to have things to put down on paper, or on the screen as it may happen to be. Still, I'm in round ten of poem a day. EEk! That's a lot of poetry. (could also be a reason for the dryness) I need to attend to more editing and sending out. ...so if you have good places for me to submit to, let me know!!!

The heat seems to have broken for now so I feel a lot more human. That and my new fans are helping alot. How is eeryone else?