Photo by:  GSofV of Flickr

Lately, writing has been hard.

Not because of Boston.  Although I could certainly try to use that as an excuse.  No, I don’t plan on talking about Boston.  I makes me too sad, and tons of smart, eloquent people have said all I could ever hope to.  Go check out John Green or Micheleh’s videos, or Chuck Wendig’s post, or Patton Oswalt’s Facebook post.

No, today I want to talk about writing.

Lately, I’ve had a bit of a dry spell and I’m not sure why.

My goals of writing 1000 words a day three times a week has been…not bueno.  I mean, I’ve done it off and on.  I’ve managed to up my blogging.  But my short fiction has been stunted since mid-March.

The plus sides:  I’ve completed three stories this year, and I did some basic work on a 4th–maybe 1/3 or 1/4 is written?  And I’ve revised two stories have them making the submission rounds.  They may be good, they may be bad.  But they’re out there.

However, I can’t seem to get a project to stick in my brain.  It’s like, every time I sit down to do any fiction writing, I start hearing a chorus of voices telling me my ideas are stupid, my writing is hackneyed, and my stories are as uninspired as a bowl of oatmeal.  It’s frustrating.  The creative wells are drip-drip-drip….dry.  I reach for words, and they’re just not there.

I know what Chuck Wendig would say.  He’d say, “Harden the fuck up, Care Bear”.  He’d say, “On good days–write.  On bad days–write.  The words always come first.”  Or something along those lines.  Probably a lot more eloquently.  And with several more references to unicorn pole-dancers or leprechaun porn.

I know what needs to be done.  I just can’t seem to bring myself to do it.  And that’s the frustrating part.