writers block

 

I’m not sure if I’m still suffering from writers block, or if my imaginary friends are quiet.  Or possibly I’m attempting to write stuff that I’m not meant to write?  Is that even possible?  Can a person only be able to write one form of writing about certain subjects & the rest are completely off limits?  Would Stephen King be able to write romance?  Would Nora Roberts be able to write a thriller?  Is it possible for James Patterson to write a science fiction?  (If any of them have, it’s throws my theory out.  I am not well read in all of their books.))

But as I sit here I think of the novel I’ve been working on since November of 2012 & I wonder to myself, am I trying something that is impossible for me to write?  People always tell me that I am capable of writing anything I put my mind to.  But am I?  Honestly.  But then I wonder even more than that, am I really the writer I think I am?  I feel like if I were I would have more writings that are finished.

Maybe I am still trying to find excuses as to why I don’t write more.  Last night I opened up my novel & wrote three paragraphs & then when I was finished, I sat back in my chair & wondered if I even liked what I had wrote.  Do all writers go through this?  I’m almost to the point of cutting off a finger.. or two.  Pull a Picasso and cut my ear off.  But instead of whatever he did – I would put mine in a box & mail it to someone.  Who?  I don’t know.  Who on this planet would want my ear?  I’m joking – mostly.

Honestly, at this point, I have no idea what I’m even talking about.  It’s seven o’clock in the morning & I haven’t been to sleep.  My head is foggy & my body is exhausted.  All I want is to sleep – however, sleep isn’t my friend at the moment.  I know that throughout the day my mind is still on the same thing.. writing.  I still carry a trillion pens, & fifteen hundred notebooks in my purse.  I think if I were to dig I’d find a notebook in my car.  You know, just in case.  I still find myself going out in public with friends and writing on napkins when something hits and I need to write it down.  I still find myself watching or reading something thinking, oh yeah, I need to make a note of that.  It could come in handy for something I could write in the future.  All of the articles I read of writers & authors, they all sound like me.  Everything they say they feel or do – I find it’s exactly what I do or feel.  I love to write.  ((Even simple things like a blog.  Even though I don’t write as much as I used to.))  I just can’t always seem to get the words flowing as easily as I did.  Like when I was between the ages of seventeen & nineteen.  To be quite frank, if I had started a novel at seventeen, I would probably have finished it.  But at seventeen, I had no idea what I liked or wanted to do with my life.  I didn’t realize writing was it until I was in my twenties.

I just need to take it day by day.  One day at a time.  Day.  By.  Day.  I can’t expect the novel to write itself or me write it in three days.  It takes time.  I even know this.  Common sense.  But there will always be a part of me that believes it shouldn’t take YEARS to write a novel especially if you already have the outline of it.

I have faith in myself, always have – I will finish this novel.  When?  That I have no idea.  But I will.  Hopefully before I’m thirty, but at this rate, I honestly don’t know that.

I have always been good at working through problems.  That is what I have right now.  A problem.  So I will trudge on and work through my problem.  Hopefully, I will fix it soon.  But I could always write more of these, at least then I know I’d still be writing, even if it isn’t on my story.

Luck.  I need luck.

I have spent 11 mother day’s without my mother. So today, instead of being sad, I figured I’d tell a story about her.

There were many years, fifteen worth, of stories to tell about her. All different but alike in the same. My mother was my best friend. The only person on the planet who I could tell anything to && not be afraid of their reaction. I always found myself going with her to work, mostly because I couldn’t find many reasons not to. On day, early morning hours where dew was still on the grass and fog hovered over the trees, I was with her. At this particular job she was a morning cook &&& opened the cafe. Every morning was the same thing, I’d fall asleep on the top of the freezer while she made homemade biscuits. This day started out no different than any others except I didn’t go to sleep. That morning I decided that I would keep my mother company, pulled up a seat, and sat there talking.

In the middle of a conversation I heard banging on the back door. My mom told me to open it, it was more than likely the lady that comes in after my mom to help finish prepping breakfast. As I made my way to the back door I stopped and thought about this for a moment. I was there every morning, even when the co-worker showed up, and never did her knocking sound like this. I turned &&& told my mom I was a little afraid of opening it. My mom pulled me back && decided I was correct, instead, she called the police.

That particular day a man was banging on the back door trying to get in because someone was literally beating the snot out of him. If I had opened that door they would have been on top of me.

Happy Mother’s Day to all of the mothers out there. I hope you get a chance to spend it with your children and enjoy your day. For y’all of you out there who no longer has their mother – share a story. Put their life out there so everyone can enjoy just how wonderful your mother was or is.

♥♥♥

I am attempting to write through this writer’s block.  Yes!  The writers block I have had since November of 2013.  No!  I’m not kidding.  It’s beginning to grind my gears to the point of wanting to scream.  

The last few days I have wrote a few stories.  Nothing big.  But stories nonetheless.  It still takes me a bit to do it and I have cheated a little with writing poetry.  But small is better than nothing, correct?  I may be kidding myself, but I am trying.  

I decided to give a new writing style a try.  See if I get the creative juices flowing.  What style?  Limerick.  For non writers out there that is scratching their forehead trying to remember from school what a “limerick” is, let me enlighten you.  A limerick is a five-line poem with a strict meter.  The rhyme scheme is usually A-A-B-B-A. Lines one and two end in the same rhyme.  Lines three and four end in the same rhyme.  Line five ends in the same rhyme as one and two.  

Example: 
There was an old man with a beard,
Who said, “It is just as I feared! – 
Two Owls and a Hen, four Larks and a Wren
Have all built their nests in my beard.”
       -Edward Lear, “A Book of Nonsense”

I have yet to actually try and write one.  But I plan on it.  Tomorrow.  Maybe?

This post was originally wrote November 05, 2013.

I sat here tonight and cleared out my computer.

For almost five years I have not had internet and rarely ever used my computer.  Only doing small things: playing games or using it to write.  A few months after I moved into the house I live in now, I hooked up my computer and it wouldn’t turn on.  That’s always a sad moment for someone who used to live on their computer.  Then I think about how much music and writing I have saved on this and the moment becomes even sadder.  So, I unhooked my desktop and put it away – hoping one day I might figure out how to fix it.  Last week my brother came and got my desktop and fixed it – sending me a picture message while at work proving that it was on.

I am not sure if I have been that excited in a while.

I finally hooked it up and turned it on.  Then sat here and deleted everything that I no longer have the use for.  I removed quite a bit from my computer.  Three different messengers (MSN, AIM, & Windows), games that I have played & won many times (leaving only three games left: Supermarket Mania, Farm Frenzy 1 & 2, & Hotel Mogul.

It was so many years and days I spent on the internet when I lived with my dad that I feel like I have completely erased that side of me.  I think about it, every now and then, of how many years I spent in front of a computer.  That when my Dell went out a few years ago I freaked!  Not honestly because I lost all my music – I could get that again – or the writing I had – none of it was finished – but because I couldn’t spend my life sitting in front of it eating as much as I could put in my mouth.  I have wondered how I allowed myself to do that.  Even though the internet obsession began when I was 13 and ended when I no longer had the internet (19 years old) it seems like a part of me that I need to put to rest.  Finally be done with it.

I had made a whole new me.  A better me.  I went by a fake name, fake looks, and fake hobbies.  I made things up so much that, for the longest time, I honestly believed it.  Until I looked into a mirror and realized that it was nothing but lies.  It was so nice to be able to sit around and have conversations with people about everything, from politics to music.  I enjoyed the people so much that they became all I ever thought about.  (I have often wondered what ever happened to those people.  The friends I made all of those years hiding out.)

I have sense been in contact with friends I had before that happened & they all ask me the same thing “where have you been? “  Truth is, I was here.  I was living in my hometown until I was sixteen & then only moved twenty minutes away.  I was not able to be found on MySpace (when it was popular) or FaceBook because I used my ”fake” name.  Fact: my FaceBook is still under my fake name.  That’s why no one can find me unless we’re mutual friends with people.

I wonder a lot, sitting here today, if it was a down spiral after losing my mother.  I was fifteen when that happened and after that never came out.  I never surfaced again until I was 23 when my dad passed away.  Why then?  I am not sure.  But I do know that I got back in contact with friends from high school, and I leave my house.  I have a job (didn’t back then and when I did only lasted about six months before I quit, leaving myself back into the internet) that I enjoy more than anyone could imagine.  I began writing again – almost finished with the rough draft of my novel.  I have a cell phone & that might seem strange to admit, but I didn’t have a phone when everyone else did.  Because I didn’t want to be found.  I wanted to be left alone with my food and computer.

I found it a big step when I made my twitter account & used my name @HightowerBarb. (Follow me. *winks*) 

Will I delete my FaceBook & make a new one finally, making it public, and letting people know how and what I’m up to?  That’s the biggest question for me right now & I’m not sure yet.  Finally getting under my name on everything will be something I didn’t think I would do when I was younger.

Will I go back to those ways once I get the internet back (will have it about three weeks after I wrote this), or will I continue with the life I’ve made in the last two years?

Will the internet seem as great as it did, not even, six years ago?

This was an issue I had for many years and I decided last year that the only way I could fix my problems and live the life I want – achieve the things I want in life – is to admit & correct.  I guess that’s what I feel like I’m doing right now.  Admitting it so I can correct it.

I have admitted to having a lot of problems in the last few years and I haven’t had as many issues.  Life seems better and the sun seems brighter.  (Even as corny as that sounds.)

I guess only time will tell just how much I have changed and how many things I won’t let affect the way I live and act.  I’m just hoping for the best – and hopefully I will finally be able to be the person – completely – that I have always dreamed about being.  Intelligent.  Happy.

For now, though, I’m happy with being content.

Unfinished.

Posted: April 26, 2014 in Uncategorized
Tags: ,

My issue has always been finishing a piece of writing.  I set out with the greatest idea I have come up with in a while.  I sit writing for hours, days, or even months.  Get almost to the end && decide that I need more than that.  So I then attempt to write more on something, that probably doesn’t need it, get irritated && never finish.  

Looking through a journal I have it just irritates me as to how many short stories I have started but not finished.  Or even the book that I started that I am still not finished with.  I understand that some writers take years to complete a book.  But they usually write daily, page by page, chapter to the next – I haven’t wrote on mine since November.  I haven’t done anything since November.  

I feel like I should be doing something.  Anything.  But i’m not.  I haven’t.  Does that mean I may not want it as much as I think I do?

Bears.

It has been a bit since I last posted something, so before I go to sleep I have decided to post something quick & funny. Hopefully my writing urge comes back soon so I have something to post. Until then…

Image  —  Posted: March 29, 2014 in Uncategorized
Tags: , , ,

Barbara Hightower:

I’ve found my new obsession painter. So I thought I’d share – get him more fans that he doesn’t already have.

Plus, I really love this piece.

Originally posted on Ray Ferrer - Emotion on Canvas:

“Beyond the Yellow Brick Road” – By Me – 2013

6ft W x 18″ H

Spray Paint on Wood Panel

***SOLD***

Ferrer - OZ

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