On Not Writing

Confession: aside from a few pieces of flash for a contest, I haven't been able to write or revise anything for the past few weeks.

This is moderately concerning, because in the past when I haven't written consistently I wind up basically quitting for years. While I don't think that will happen this time, because I'm not as much of a moron anymore, it still feels dangerous not to write. It's so easy to fall into the "not writing" trap, and quite difficult to climb your way out of it once you're in.

Comic books awaiting their epic journey.

A lot of the reason I can't write, maybe even all of it, is due to the upcoming move to Portland, which is now precipitously close. Less than two months away close. And while I am totally committed to this move and can't wait for it to happen, even good things cause a ton of stress and anxiety. Moving is right up there with divorce and job loss as a stressor, and this move will come packaged with job loss (with nothing waiting for me) and is clear across the friggin' country. We are literally moving as far away as one can from our current location without leaving the continental US. It's not a coincidence that this "writer's block" coincided almost perfectly with the finalizing of our timetable. There's just so much to do, and I feel like I can't carve out some writing time since I should be packing boxes or sorting out stuff to give away. Although I'm falling down on those tasks as well, truth be told.

People, including Rob, say to be kind to myself, to let the writing flow at its own pace and give myself some breathing space, but honestly? Fuck that. I need to be harder on myself, because when it comes right down to it, the only person hurt if I don't write is me (and maybe Rob, a little). There's nobody out there salivating for my precious words. Sure, it's "only" two months, but that's a hell of a lot of writing time to waste, and I was going at a pretty serious pace up until two weeks ago. (And there's always the possibility that it's not because of the move. I'd rather not think about that possibility.)

I'm sure it will come back in time. I signed myself up for another crazy challenge to write several full-length short stories at the pace of one per week over the next several weeks, and I'm still sticking to my deadline of having my novel reader-ready (if not agent-ready) by April 1, although I probably won't be able to deliver it to beta readers on that date since we'll probably be driving through Montana or some shit.

There's just nothing worse than having a huge block of writing time and not being able to do anything but stare at a blank screen because you're filled with existential dread. Well, maybe those big-ass spiders they have in the Pacific Northwest. I'd rather not think about those either.

***

To pull a total 180, my contributor copy of Spark: A Creative Anthology (which includes my story "Real Plastic Trees") came in the mail a few days ago. It's an astonishing 400+ pages long, and includes speculative fiction pieces from both established and new writers. The paperback book is gorgeous, but there's also an e-version if you prefer that. Pick it up!

It's Hard to Hold a Candle in the Cold November Rain

This is a picture of a cheeseburger between two grilled cheeses. Your argument is invalid.

So I was going to post a lot more about our Portland trip but then I realized that probably nobody cares and also it's been over a month since we got back so not topical anymore, you know? I have to be honest, I've been pretty upset since we returned. Anyone who knows me even a little (which is probably most of the people who read this journal?) knows that I haven't been fond of this Baltimore place since approximately two weeks after I got here. Going to a city like Portland, where everyone is so friendly and the streets mostly don't smell of pee and despair, just reminded me that even though in some ways I've "made it" here, that I have friends and a job and my writing, I am really not happy. Yeah, I know, most people aren't happy, suck it up. But it's getting to the point where I'm emotionally wrecked whenever I leave Baltimore, because I have to come back, and this is something that can't continue indefinitely. So yeah, changes are coming even if they're not coming as fast as I would like.

Anyway, in writing news, my #fullcommunism story "The Afternoon Revolution" was accepted for the Bundoran Press political SF anthology Strange Bedfellows, along with original stories by Eugie Foster, Ian Creasey, Craig DeLancey, Alter Reiss, and many more. So look for that in April 2014, yay!

Rob and I attended Capclave in October, go read his exhaustive recap on The Book Stew. This was the con that killed our car, but good riddance. It was great to see all my east coast SF writer friends, and I hope we can meet up with everyone at least one last time before going wherever it is we're going.

Lastly, although I am not doing Nanowrimo, I am currently in the process of turning out a long-form November-centric writing project. After spending the past few years exclusively focused on short stories, writing something with more word length is weird. You mean I can add elements, not subtract them? You mean I can/should put in character moments and world-building that has nothing to do with the central idea? It's really weird to me, and I'm not sure I like working long like this, but it's an experiment to say the least. But don't worry, short fiction, you'll always be first in my heart.