Let’s say you’re really pumped for your next workout.  It’s going to be the BEST. I mean epic, Rocky-inspired, come-back shit. The sweat of angels will pour off you and everywhere the droplets touch the ground roses will spring forth and when they bloom fairies will be born and spread their magic throughout the kingdom. You’ll reach your goal and look back at the magical mecca you’ve created and as you chug your water you’ll have this deep understanding of how fucking awesome you are. And the answer is really fucking awesome. More awesome than a thousand bulldogs in tutus.

Then you actually get up for the workout the next day and you’re tired, sore, your body is fucked, your mind is fucked, your muscles have atrophied overnight and you’ll be damned if you could even poop a clawed, disfigured angel, let alone grow the perfect world from your sweat.

That’s kind of what my writing has been like lately.  And I am not pleased about it.  I work a day job because I know that quitting to focus all my time on writing, while emotionally and mentally satisfying, is financially irresponsible. When I’m at my 9-5 I get ideas, but I can’t really do anything about them except furiously write them down and hope that when I get home I remember what the hell it was I was thinking.

Except then I get home and I read what I’ve jotted down and I’m all: Fuck this noise. This is demon spittle. So I sit down to write and I grunt and gasp and strain and pop a few blood vessels and when I take count of what I’ve written there’s maybe a few sentences. And they suck dishwater.

Cue frustration & disappointment.

Needless to say, I haven’t done any good writing in about a week and a half. It’s really getting to me. I suppose it’s normal… there are hills and valleys in every aspect of life, right? I won’t be stuck in this rut forever, right?  I just keep telling myself that, as I dig and claw my way along the muddy walls of my temporary (key word here) prison.

The only cure is…. MORE COWBELL.

Just kidding. It’s actually drugs.

OK, OK, for real now. The cure… is more writing.

It sounds counterproductive, right? When your writing sucks harder than a hundred-dollar whore and you’re completely tapped out… that’s when you should write more.  It will suck – IT WILL – but you should still do it.  Because it’s the only way you’re going to get out of the rut.  Pile the carcasses of your words up until they’re taller than the walls of the hole you’re in, then climb them out. And if they’re slippery with your blood all the better, because it means you worked hard for it.

What do you do to get out of a rut?

A few other Misc but cool things:

Thing #1
I found this awesome book called Damn Good Advice (For people with talent!) – it’s essentially a book of quotes and ideas from George Lois, a really insanely creative designer.  Many of the thoughts & ideas apply to creativity in general.  I recommend it.

Thing #2
The amazing, talented and witty Chuck Wendig is offering a book package for a limited time only – pay what you want starting at $10 for an amazing collection of his writing advice books. Check it out with THIS LINK or you will be forever cursed with monkey zits.

Stay Shiny!

One Comment

  1. [nods sympathetically] Write through the pain. Feel the burn. Earn those words. Also, I grabbed that Wendig bundle myself. I haven’t heard of the other book, but I’ll add it to my Amazon wish list.

Comments are closed.