I will never call it writer’s block. Nothing truly blocked, I can write, I just don’t care for the words that come out. Although, the words are coming out they don’t seem to say anything of meaning. Sometimes when I am working on a story I will stop writing it, if only for ten minutes, and begin to write something else until I feel that the words are there, and I like them. This usually only goes on for ten minutes. Sometimes it does last a bit longer.
Tonight, the words are not in the place I wante. I had a lot of things in my head, I did not write them down while I was thinking about them. And here is the problem. I keep a journal close at hand at all times, even when I am at my day job I have a pen and paper in my pocket, I never know when the words will strike me. This is a ritual I have done for a few years with my writing. I did not see it anywhere, I am sure someone wrote it down by another author on some website or in a book. This is what breaks the repetition for me.
The change in attitude from saying I will write a book, to I have written a book. I may not care for the book I wrote. I am sure that is why it is sitting on my hard drive and not on some agents desk, waiting for the moment he/she reads it. I prefer to turn my attention to a book that has drawn me in and taken a hold of my soul, punishing me with the words on the page. With each keystroke I feel the book growing, the way a zombie would hunger for brains, so does the page hunger for my words and keystrokes.
See there you go, I have gotten things written that I did not see coming, don’t look at them I tell myself, just post the blog and go back to the story. So that is what happens.