I am still looking.
After a failed attempt to retrieve inspiration from my Facebook friends, I have little to report on the writer’s block. I have little, doubt, however, that it stems from an early dose of seasonal affective disorder.
That’s right. It’s November, and I am suffering from S.A.D. There are a long five more months to go before the temperature climbs back to a level at which I am comfortable. It hasn’t even really snowed yet, either.
It’s going to be a long winter.
Maybe I can write about that!
Posted by Shoshana Hebshi on November 15, 2009
When I was in 10th grade, my English teacher had the class do a simple exercise: a train-of-thought stream of consciousness consisting of phrases and words that is supposed to allow your brain the freedom to explore the many thoughts and connections running through your mind at a given time. There are no rules, only that you cannot stop writing for a set period of time.
What comes out of this exercise is meant to be the inspiration for something greater.
Since I have clogged my productive and creative parts of my being with this 8-5 job I’ve been holding down, I’ve been struggling for inspiration to continue this blog and other projects I’ve had in the works or nearly finished, so I think I will try that exercise right now, and I will not apologize for anything that happens to come up.
Wait. This isn’t working. I can’t even think of a first word to write.
Oh well. Maybe tomorrow.
Posted by Shoshana Hebshi on November 14, 2009
A month or so hiatus can be restful. Or so they say.
I say, blogging is restful. A chance to clear the cobwebs and the air, and whatever flurry of ideas are running rampant in my brain. But, I have to admit, that since I started working full time, I have been cleared out of ideas. Not so much ideas, actually, but drive.
So this is something I don’t understand about writers. Real writers. Writers who are disciplined and published and continue cranking things out prolifically. How do they keep motivated. I seem to be motivated by guilt. And a sense of a ticking clock.
Last week the Iowa Poet Laureate Mary Swander gave a talk at my workplace. One of the audience members asked her about her process, meaning how does she produce her work. What happens when she sits down to write?
Swander, being a witty off-the-cuff speaker, said she doesn’t have any obsessive compulsive traits or routines she does before she begins writing, like sharpening her pencil on a manual sharpener 18 times. She just squeezes it in.
I often imagine myself locked away in some remote cabin for a month or two to crank out an idea I have for a story or novel or essay or something. Just to get it out. Isolation. But I’m sure I’d get distracted and find some way to procrastinate and not get it done. Does this make me not a serious writer. I’d say so. But who knows?
If someone were to take a poll of writers to talk about what motivates them to sit down and write, I wonder what would be the consensus?
I have a pile of ideas I’d like to churn out. But who, really, has the time? Might as well let them fester.
Posted by Shoshana Hebshi on October 10, 2009
This article spun out of a series of Tweets from Susan Orlean. It’s a great view into the life of a writing mother:
Posted by Shoshana Hebshi on June 12, 2009