by Sean Chercover
Okay, so it’s Friday. Marcus can’t blog today, because Marcus is drunk in a bar somewhere in Denver.
He asked me to fill-in. At least I think that’s what he said. Hard to be sure.
You know, I just posted a thing on Wednesday. Really, you people who have solo blogs and post new stuff every day? I don’t know how you do it. Anyway. Where was I? Oh yeah, Wednesday. I posted on Wednesday, about Sam Zell and Wrigley Field. Remember? I do. Like it was just a couple of days ago. That was a fun post. Oh, what a time we had.
Yeah . . . good times . . .
So now I have to blog again . . . about . . . something.
Dum-da-dum-da-dum. Dum-dee-dum-dee-dum.
A-hah! I’ve got it!
Let’s talk about . . .
No, wait. It’s gone.
Damn.
Don’t you hate that? The way ideas dance around the edges of your conscious mind. Teasing you. Taunting you. Dancing. Oh yes, they dance all right. Sometimes they dance with seven veils. Sometimes they dance naked. And sometimes they sing while dancing.
“La-la-la, I’m a great idea, look how pretty I am dancing around in all my nakedness, I know you want me, la-la-la.”
I may be paraphrasing, but that’s the gist of what they sing.
And then you reach out for them. And, poof! Gone. Maybe because you reached too fast. You were grabby, and grabby never gets.
Norman Mailer wrote a book on writing called The Spooky Art. I haven’t actually read the book. But I’ve read the title. That’s gotta count for something, right? Marcus has read the title too, and he might be posting about it right now, were he not drunk in a bar somewhere in Denver.
The Spooky Art. Writing does feel that way sometimes. And writers do a lot of crap in an attempt to seduce those ideas, to keep them from going, poof!
Meditation, long walks, hot showers, listening to music and/or dancing around the room in your underwear, exercise, masturbation, wearing your lucky writing hat, yoga, substance abuse . . .
What works for you?
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14 comments:
Why, blogging of course!
Ah hell, nothing works....
Maaarcus! Oh, Maaaaarcus!
We need you back here.
Fast.
Sean...I think you and I are the only ones NOT drunk and in Denver....
Reports of drunk and disorderly behavior in Denver are greatly exaggerated. We just all look that way because this hotel layout is so bizarre we're all walking around in a slight daze, not knowing where we're going.
PS I'm impressed that you're thinking about your book even while masturbating.
Ha! One the best posts I've read in a while.
Marcus should be... indisposed more often.
As I sit in the peanut gallery of the as yet unpublished, I sometimes think locking myself in a room might work, but then I resort to the next best things. British comedy and popcorn. Seriously. I have no clue why. Comedy and carbs.
When I've having trouble writing, I read a few writing blogs! I have a list of a few good ones I frequent.
And if that doesn't work, then I have a drink. Then I go over to Sean Chercover's website and steal an idea from there.
Just kidding. I listen to music to get the ideas flowing, either Aerosmith or Jim Croce.
Rosemary - It's a measure of my dedication to the craft (I'm not saying which craft).
Maryann - British comedy is a fine procrastination tool. My current favorite is Black Books. Very funny stuff.
Pat - If you find something on my site worth stealing, let me know so I can steal it too.
Unfortunately, as a student, there is no time to wait for the muse... a muse... any muse... I just sit and write and hope something will be usable and work out. When things get sticky, I find myself a writing lubricant (caffeine or alcohol) and then sit and write until my butt goes numb and my fingers cramp. Then I find the opposing and keep going.
When true desperation hits, limits are imposed. No bathroom trips or getting out of the chair for any reason until X number of paragraphs are written.
It's not pretty.
Nobody who actually gets anything written waits for a muse. But you ought to try dancing around in your underwear once in a while - it sharpens the focus.
I think you should post Marcus's entire next novel. He'll like that.
It might have been an interesting had Marcus left us a blog steeped in anibriation.
That's it. From now on, Sean is my designated poster.
Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go have a drink...
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