That Voice

All this week a voice in my head has repeated one statement: writing is hard.

It is not like I didn't know that before. I've read many a book (poem, play, novel, academic article, etc...), sat back in utter astonishment at the brilliance, the subtlety, the complexity of the writing...and then looked at my computer screen with hopelessness.

I've had poems and plays rejected numerous times by groups at school and groups out in the "real world". I dropped my intermediate fiction class my junior (?) year of college. I'm still bitter about not being accepted into the creative writing section of English my senior year of high school. I've had successes too, more often for poetry, but not enough to make me the least bit confident about my writing (though I think I could win a Pulitzer and still not be the least bit confident...).

For four days, I didn't touch the play I am working on. I would open it, reread a scene, and then feel overwhelmed. I am now at the point where the play probably won't get any longer. I am going in and changing the details, making the world richer, tweaking the language in an effort to make the play stronger. Sometimes I just don't know what to change. Sometimes I just don't care. Hence why I then close the file and pick up a book to read.

Writing is hard.

On Tuesday, so frustrated with my inability to do anything productive on my play, I started writing something else. An image I had in my head for a week now. I wasn't sure if it should be a play or the makings of a short story/novella/novel. When I started writing, it became 1,000 words of the latter. And while this was productive in some respects, did I feel productive? No. And while there may be some "good" writing in there, did I feel like I was writing well? No.

Yesterday, after receiving feedback from a writing buddy, I felt recharged. I wrote down six big questions I wanted to consider when doing my next round of edits. I felt like I knew where to start. I opened the file and started rereading my play. A tweak here, a tweak there, a bunch of changes while watching an episode of the Rachel Zoe Project (please don't judge me...or, at least, be kind while judging me...) and then that voice. Writing is hard.

Today...I didn't even open the file on my computer and I didn't even open the short story/novella/novel file either. Writing is hard. Walking dogs is easier. So I did that instead.