Right now I just want to write. I want to create those worlds spun from words and I want to paint images I cannot capture in any other way I know, or at least not as well in any other way I know. I cannot, and I’m in a bit of a ditch and that’s the main reason as to why, but I want to.
I want to sit here and write and not have to worry about money because I’m earning it from my writing, and that doesn’t happen, and perhaps it wouldn’t work right now anyway. I have far, far too many things to take care of and I’m in a slump. I’m stuck on a loop and that loop continues on and for evermore, and I need to come at it with as much as I can. I need to take to it with a blunt instrument and force myself out of it, perhaps. I can, and I can wait for it to happen naturally, but maybe that won’t work. Maybe that won’t happen at all.
Sometimes you need to force yourself through something, and it can always suck when you do. I feel I need to at the moment, and I feel that if I don’t I won’t get much of anything else done. I’m still unpacking – it will, of course, take a while – but I have time to do other things and I’m not. I’m just looping around on what I’ve already written in roughly the same way that I’ve written it, and it doesn’t stop. It keeps on and on, and I go around and around and I’ve already said this in this bit of writing, but far more efficiently.
So I sit here and I think to myself. I wonder as to how I can get away from this rut I’ve so firmly entrenched myself within. Can I just force it? I know I can, but can I? If I don’t try, I won’t find out so I do need to try, or rather I should try, but do I even want to? Familiarity breeds comfort and sometimes it breeds stagnation, and maybe I want to stagnate. I don’t know.
I know I listen to dramatic music and that makes me question myself even more, and do I even want to be doing that? I don’t want to dig into myself right now, but I feel I must in some ways. I feel I need to keep getting into it all and digging and pulling apart, and perhaps I need to stop. But I don’t know. There’s so much I don’t know and I probably won’t ever know, and that’s okay. But this doesn’t have much to do with the issues of writing that I’m experiencing.
So I’m getting away from myself and I don’t have much time left for lunch, and that’s an issue but that’s also okay. I could work on other things but I really wanted to make sure I was writing because I wanted to write about this. If I wanted to write about this, that means that this is something I can work on. At the least I know I don’t want to remain in familiar territory, and there is some comfort in that, I guess. I know that I want to keep growing and exploring, and refining rather than repeating. Of course there is repetition in refining, but this is a different kind of refining, I think. I’m not just looking to re-write the same thing over and over, eternally until there is nothing left, and then write the same thing some more.
I know what I want to write and how I want to go about writing it, but then I wonder as to how I go about writing it. Or perhaps it is I wonder as to how I put what I don’t want to write to the side and write what I want to… you get the idea.
There’s so much to explore and I need to step foot and walk that path. I need to dig and go through and around, and perhaps both above and under, too. I remember the last time Iw as dumped, I started looking inward, and I’ve done a lot of that over the years, but maybe I need to be more frank and uncomfortable about it. Maybe I need to find out where it all lies and where the damage has been done and what needs to be fixed and replaced, and through that I can spin narrative. Perhaps through that I can weave my web of scenery and mood, and it will be in that form of discomfort that I find where all of what I want to do lies. I don’t know. I don’t want to profess to know. I know that I want to get there, and it will take time, but so long as I work on it I will get there… maybe.
It’s all that uncertainty that keeps on rising up. It’s all of that that I keep letting rule my desire to create, and I need to shake it off. I need to let go and step forward, scared and naked, but still willing. I need to understand that I can create change in how I’m writing and write what I want to write, and I need to stop adding these caveats to knowing that I can do it.
You know, I feel like shit, and I am a little scared. I don’t feel safe right now, though I feel I can relax. But writing… writing is tough at any given moment. Well, more the editing than the writing itself, but you know. It takes time and energy, and recognising what needs to be cut and what needs to stay, or at least thinking I know. But I’ll keep doing it and keep working at it, so I can improve.
So it’s time for me to let go of that uncertainty.
The time it took to write one thousand words: 12:07:05
Decent speed, I think. The writing itself isn’t great. Started letting go a bit toward the end though, which was nice.
Written at work.
Stupidity Hole 