mjj (flemmings) wrote,

Quality and quantity

Normally, you understand, I spend my life jonesing about for a story to write. 'Oh if only I had a story to write then I wouldn't feel so futile and loose-endy and scratchy and itchy.' Then I get a story to write and I'm all futile and loose-endy and scratchy and itchy because it fights me tooth and claw.

For the last month I've had story ideas popping up at me like gophers from the ground. None of my usual inhibitions about writing them, either: down they go either on paper or into the computer scribble-scribble tap-tap. (I do not underestimate the effect of going back to paper. Longhand really does use a different part of the brain.) Currently I have three fics in the works, two more nittering at me to be written, mental notes towards a couple of others, and an eighth in a perpetual state of WIP. This usually happens when a series or whatever comes to occupy an excessive portion of one's time, and it's generally bliss. At last I'm one of these people who can dash off multiple fics, more than one every three months, even if I'm still not at the level of those who seem to fic as easily as breathing. (I will never be one of those who fic *well* as easily as breathing, but those can be counted on the fingers of a badly mutilated right hand.)

There is however a downside to my recent vast productivity. No pain no gain. Nothing I've written this year satisfies me at all. "Easy, vulgar and therefore..." Retreads. Same themes repeated. Same ideas recurring. Same vocabulary forever and ever. Been there and done that, many a time and oft.

Maybe I should stick to telling myself stories before falling asleep. Repetition and familiarity are virtues in that kind of story, and it's gone by morning. It's not there every time I open up Word, sitting lumpishly on the screen in all its utter unlovely lack of inspiration.
Tags: writing-moan

  • (no subject)

    Spent the last two days ereading books and doing nothing else. Yesterday was prime rainy season weather- not hot but muggy and humid and grey and…

  • (no subject)

    Hard to tell with the persistent grey skies but I'd guess 9/10s of my blossoms have scattered, turning next door's yard into a Yayoi Kusama…

  • 'Been there, done that, read The Silmarillion'

    As someone said about similar circumstances to my own. So, I've finally read The Silmarillion, AKA 'why we can't have nice things', as well as most…

  • Post a new comment


    Anonymous comments are disabled in this journal

    default userpic

    Your reply will be screened

    Your IP address will be recorded