Friday, May 4, 2012

Writer's Block is Real


The thermometer in the car read 101 degrees before I got here.  The sun shines directly in my face.  I've been staring at this blank piece of paper and it's so hot.  For months now I've been trying to write a new proposal (or query) for Bar Fight and I just can't do it.  A one page letter telling what the novel is about, what it is like, who wants to read it and why?  Why am I qualified to write it (am I qualified to do anything?  Am I capable?)  Why do I do this?  One page.  As I sit in a fold up chair in the middle of a blank field at South Park, in the real world, back in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, back in 2012, I can't do it.  I've tried procrastinating.  I've planned it all out, to shift my focus elsewhere, but I just cant do it, I can't find the spark.  What does it mean?  What is this about?  The hook?  It's been three years since I finished now, two since I finished Bar Fight.  Did I tell you that the entire timeline of Bar Fight is out of order.  So is the timeline of my life.  It's fragmented.  Fragmented… Why did I need that sentence? My sunglasses are tangled in my hair.  This cloud passes in front of the sun, it's getting cooler.  Where am I?  I wrote another one months ago, it was good, I told myself I had to write two good ones before I sent one out.  My mind distracts itself, this heat, why two?  That's the plan.  I convince myself the first one is risky, that's procrastination.  It's so hot.  Why do I do this?  It's one page, do I sleep tonight or will I sweat, stare at the ceiling?  Is time lost wasted or redeemable?  What am I doing?

How did I lose myself to Bar Fight?


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