I really want to write.
I want to create new worlds, new people, new ideas, new animals. I want to be the puppet-master over my creations, I want to shape their lives according to my whim, I want to let them wander through my fingers just to see where the story leads. I want to feed my god complex. I want to wield total control over the life and death of my creations, I want to decide whether or not the bad guy wins or if the good guy finally gets the girl. I want to watch my creation gain its own momentum and flow naturally. I want to create a literary picture, with the motion from word to word creating an image in my mind’s eye. I want to create something new.
I want to write fiction. I want to write fiction really badly. Like, super duper badly.
So, rather than writing fiction, why am I writing about how badly I want to write fiction? Simply put, I’m stuck. I don’t know what to write about. I’ve been rereading my old favorites, prying into the plot points and literary elements of my novel friends, searching for inspiration.
And while my old friends have delighted me with their familiar tales (seriously, whether or not you’ve already read it, re/read Norton Juster’s The Phantom Tollbooth. Sheer brilliance that’s accessible at any age.) I have emerged with nothing.
Zip.
Zilch.
Nada.
Zero.
Bupkis.
No. Freaking. Ideas.
At all.
And it’s really bothering me. I can’t even decide what format to write, even less what to write about. I could try another short story, a piece of terrible slam poetry, some straight up poetry, a monologue, a play, a screenplay… the list is endless.
Heck, I could even fail to write another full novel. The only limit is the limit my imagination can reach, which at the moment is abysmally low.
Even nonfiction is proving to be difficult. It’s like my whole body has this itch that I can’t scratch, just between the skin and my muscle tissue.
It’s the urge to write, and frankly, writing this isn’t helping much.
Gah. I really can’t wait until my internship comes around, so that I can at least have a purpose behind my writing.
Well, anyways, at least I haven’t resorted to this… (adult content)
Yeah. Smack me if that ever happens.