Complete Fucking Chaos

I have no writing routine. Just when I think I’ve gotten into a nice pattern my brain decides to go screwy, or life turns me around and I have to make do. It’s not often a problem for me. I write fast and get things done.

But lately I’m slowing down. I used to be able to pump out 5k words in one sitting and now I’m lucky if I get to 500 or 1k. It’s not for lack of ideas, or want. I can push through and go a bit farther, but I’ve learned to embrace whatever strange shifts make their way into my process.

My drafts are better now, so taking more time seems warranted. Unfortunately I may not be able to run around breaking the rules joking about how I don’t have to write everyday. I don’t know. I’m one of those people who have to finish things and hates it when projects sit for too long.

Why the hell am I a writer?

Great question.

Mostly because I can’t shut up.

The chaos of my constant changing ways never allows me to get too comfortable. I don’t mind it since it keeps my writing fresh. But it’s been a major bitch for the past couple of weeks. This is why writers drink. haha

All of the things I used to think about writing are being destroyed. It’s like this profession (if one can even call it that heehee) continues to change as you grow as a writer. The more I learn about writing and myself as a writer, the more terrified I become. There is no mastering this shit. The further you go, the further you have to go.

I feel like I’ve discovered a wormhole only after I’ve fallen in and there’s no way back. I can’t just give up. There is no turning around. I took the fucking red pill and I have not one regret.

Maybe it would be different if I had set out to end up here. But that’s not how anything in my life has ever played out well. I learned to trust the fates a long time ago. If you fight them you screw yourself (often better than when they screw you, trust me I know).

Makes me think of Suzanne Clark’s Jonathan Strange talking about how the secrets are in the madness. Edgar Allen Poe seemed to build most of his works on that idea. But if insanity is doing the same thing again and again and expecting a different outcome, then are career writers really crazy? We have to adapt and constantly change our plan of attack to keep at it. A least that’s how I’ve been moving forward.

Is embracing chaos the heart of keeping sane?

I mean sanity is simply defined as soundness of mind. WTF

That’s not the opposite of insanity. That would be Doing different things over and over again and expecting different outcomes, right? (which is kind of my life)

And if the inversions of words are not opposites, than nothing makes sense and everything is crazy. It’s been a weird fucking day, but also it’s been a weird fucking week, month, year…life. Our own language doesn’t even make sense and here I am using it to try and push out stories that make sense to people.

Is anyone else kind of tilting their head at this?

Maybe it’s just me.

Could also be that I’m in the process of reading the mind fuck that is House of Leaves. (I’ve been warned and yet I don’t care) And I broke down and started listening to an actual audiobook last night. Aww hell. I’m a literate person who is listening to a book instead of reading it (and I’m enjoying it ahhhhh). Nothing makes sense anymore. haha

Writing later on is going to be so much fun.

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