Writing is Sooo Hard …. Waah …

Even though it’s one — if not THE — favorite of my pastimes, sometimes writing is so hard.

And it takes soooooo long.

Here comes the sympathy tears … waah. After all the crybaby tactics and listing of facts (both real and made up), the fact remains.

Writing is sometimes so hard. And it takes sooooo long.

Let me explain.

Last night. In the Midwest the winds were howling, singing forlornly as they whipped around the corners of my house. I went to bed, the tempestuous atmosphere the perfect background for the dark, and put on one of my Amazon Music playlists I call Late Night Minor Chord Piano. (I listen to music before bed to try and slow my chatter brain down).  Snuggled all comfy under my comforter, sleepy-eyed, my thoughts were slowing down when my muse stopped by.

“Isn’t this the kinda sounds just perfect for a story?” she asked, sitting on my pillow.

“Go away. I’m trying to sleep.”

She laughed. “You know you won’t fall asleep until midnight. It’s only ten o’clock. I’m telling you! There’s a story here! Night! Wind! Spooky music!”

Well, she was right. There was a story in this rare atmosphere.

But I was in bed. In the dark. My computer was in the other room. My dream journal (the one I’m trying to write in when I have a great dream) was nowhere to be found. My legs ached from walking most of the evening, and my valerian was starting to kick in.

But there was a story in the nightly wind.

Something nebulous started to form in my mind. I saw a stopwatch — maybe a grandfather’s gold watch. A younger woman looking at said watch. Some time travel element, maybe. Or flashback story.

And there I was, laying in bed in the dark, not willing to get up and give it a whirl.

Getting up and writing would have been so hard.

And besides — by the time I’d flush out a decent story line — even letting the story take a life of its own as I typed — and set the atmosphere, the place, the characters, the plot, the dialogue, the turning point, it would be a month down the line. Six months. And, knowing me, rewrites, grammatical corrections, and all the rest.

I know — ANY craft takes time. You can’t just slop paint on a canvas and call it a painting. Or knit a row or two and call it a pair of socks. It takes planning ahead of time. An idea. A plan. An outline. Instructions. Research.

And you can’t do any of that from your bed. At night. In the dark.

In the light of day today the story idea still lingers. But the winds have died down, I’m getting ready to go to my grand daughter’s Christmas concert, and have an apple crisp baking in the oven.

I don’t hear atmospheric music, see gold watches, or have a glimpse of grandfather’s life in the 20’s.

But I’ll be back.

True artists never give up. They follow their leads to see wherever they may go. And they go through the birthing process every time a new idea takes shape.

Just not once I get into bed and turn out the lights. 

 

 

14 thoughts on “Writing is Sooo Hard …. Waah …

  1. What you need girl is a secretary 27/7 who will catch your words and write them down !

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  2. I’ve tried the hoping to retain the idea till daylight, it never works for me and just frustrates me so that the next time I push myself to get it done right away before it disappears with the sunrise.

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  3. Maybe you did not write your inspired story in that moment, but you wrote this, and this is a delight. Oh, those stories that speak to us when we think our day is done or wake us up at night!

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  4. Oh man, I hear you! This has happened to me so many times it’s simply pathetic. I’ve written more poems than I can count after the light has been turned off. First I get a first line, struggle trying to not listen until the muse kicks me hard enough to make me turn the light back on, grab a pen and paper, write a few lines, turn the light back off, lay there awhile then the next line hits like a sledge hammer so the light goes back on…and so on until there is a whole poem finished on whatever paper I could find on my night stand. By then it’s well past midnight, my brain is in overdrive and I’m hungry to boot. Such is the life of a writer.

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