On my “writing” days that I don’t have work in the morning or some early appointment:
Wake up, lay in bed for a while thinking, smoke a cigarette, maybe go to the bathroom, get back in bed and lay there for at least 20 more minutes, make coffee, drink coffee while facebooking, open the document I’m working on, realize I’m out of coffee and cannot write without it, smoke a cigarette, get more coffee, start writing, hit a wall, facebook some more, force-write some crap that might work later, give up, text someone, see if anyone wants to hang out, read, think about cleaning, get dressed, fix hair, eat, hang out with Corey, complain about how I didn’t get much writing done today, the day is over, lay in bed and pray, think about how it will be easier to write tomorrow, until the next morning, get up and do it all again.
Great writers say there’s no such thing has writers block, and that writers need discipline. But sometimes, I just don’t know what to write about. Have I really reached that point in my life where I stopped caring passionately about things? How is it that I’ve become so nonchalant, my mind suddenly so old? Where have all my deep impulses for writing gone? How do I find that buried thing that needs plucked out of me and put on paper for all to see? I would just give up writing altogether, but I’d be severely unhappy if I did that. Help me.
