First of all, let me take a moment to thank everyone who has purchased the book, or commented on the book, or supported my efforts. I truly appreciate it. My next mission is to get people to log back onto Amazon in order to post a review. It hasn’t been easy. Several weeks ago, a semi-famous author posted that she needed some assistance with her newest tome. She was looking for people to read and review her short story that was being published in Kindle form. I jumped at the chance. I quickly responded, and she sent me a copy of the manuscript which I eagerly read and reviewed. It was a good story; an essay about the perils of fame and dating and whatnot. I liked the story on it’s merits but I made sure that I gave it a glowing review just to hope for a little reciprocation down the line. Two weeks later, when my book came out, I sent her an e-mail with a copy of the first few stories and I asked her to return the favor.
Not even a response. Not even a stream of hot smoke blown up my ass.
The early comments from my real friends have all been positive. Mostly.
Friend: How come the stories are so depressing?
Me: Do I look like Bob Ross? There are no happy trees in my stories.
While that’s not completely true, I do tend to edge towards the darker side of life. I just find it more interesting. Not that I dwell in morbidity, but I do find that it’s the tragic events that shape our lives, and our happiness. Put it this way, it’s the strikeouts that make the homeruns that much sweeter.
Which brings me to the reason for my post today.
I’m blocked. Not constipated, but blocked. As in writer’s block.
I have spent the last two weeks using my energies to try and promote the book, get a little buzz going, see if I can get other people interested in promoting it as well. It’s been great. I visited a local book store, and they agreed to stock copies of the book. Great! I’m psyched. Things are happening.
Now it’s time to get moving on the next project before this one becomes stale. So each night, after the day is done, I sit down at my trusty computer ready to do battle with the empty page, and…. nothing.
It’s not that I don’t have any ideas, I’ve got plenty of them. I have a folder of them. Good ideas. Great ideas. Even not so great ideas.
I even went out an purchased a brand new laptop for the purpose of writing these wonderful ideas whenever and wherever the mood strikes me.
Writers block is an interesting phenomena. Evidently, it happens to every writer, or artist for that matter. Which makes the fact that writers like Stephen King or Lawrence Block, or the late Donald Westlake, guys that were so prolific in their writing, all the more amazing. Westlake wrote over 100 novels. I’m not sure I’ve ever read a hundred novels. It took me 47 years to write 20 short stories, how am I ever going to finish a novel when I can’t even get started?
What usually happens is I get ready to start working, and then something distracts me. Usually its facebook, or laundry. Or I remember that I needed to call my old college roommate. Or I remember that I wanted to download a recipe for fondue and I need to start that project right away.
It should be obvious by now that the only reason for this post is to help me break through the block. I’m forcing myself to write in the hopes that it will clear the logjam. Kind of like a creative laxative. I’m glad that you came along for the ride. I hope I didn’t bore you. Thanks for the assistance. I feel better already. I can feel the creative juices flowing through me. I’m ready to write.
But first, I’m going to the gym.
See you on Split Rock Road.