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Saturday, March 27, 2010

Tick, Tick, Tick.

What motivates you as a writer? Fame? Money? Glory? We all hope for those to some extent, but what really gets you to sit down and put words on paper?

If your anything like me it's pressure. Unless there's something that makes me feel a real need I just can't bring myself to do it. I think that's why deadlines came into existence, to get people like me to do it.

So what use is this to us? Well like I said before the best way to improve is to write, a lot. You can't always be writing for publication. Sometimes you just need to write for practice. But how do you motivate yourself if you're writing for something as nebulous as practice?

Set your own deadline. Make it something real, something with consequence. When you write to publish the consequence is simple. You don't get published. Do something for yourself to make it real. Whether the outcome is positive or negative depends on you. Personally I'm not much for self flagellation. I bribe myself with a pack of trading cards for a game I enjoy. It works for me.

Now just figure out what works for you and get to it. The clock's ticking.

3 comments:

L. Diane Wolfe said...

The response from readers who are inspired by my books keeps me going.

That and I'm a redhead - I'm too stubborn to quit!

A Mom's Choice said...

I seem to be at a slump in my writing at the moment. I get the story in my mind, knowing the start and some of the end or at least where I want to go with story, but finishing the story is like learning how to ride a bicycle again.

Anonymous said...

You don't realize how much you love the sound of that clock winding down until it stops. It takes you a day or two to come to grips with what's just happened. Especially when you were so sure he'd be there on time.

Someone else will come along. I know that just like I know that he wasn't the right one. He couldn't have been or else he would indeed be here.

But I wanted it to be him. He fascinated me like no one else ever has and I wanted to be near him. So I cheated. I'll admit that. I cut every corner I could. I didn't press charges or go to the police and I didn't scream and expose him and his friends like I could have.

I wanted him to make it. I wanted him to win.

Men are peculiar creatures. I'll never forget how much slack I got for being too trusting. They tried to tell me I would never "succeed" if I didn't stop trusting the way I do.

They called it trust. I call it faith. And I begged him to have just a little. And if he couldn't have faith then do it because he liked me. Do it because we were friends.

Come on! I kept telling him. Time is running out!

I mailed the puppy less than 24 hours before it ended. There it is again. Hope. That stuff did not want to die. Not when it came to him.

But die it did. Because time does run out.

I used everything. Hope, writing, silence, ignoring him, paying attention to him. In the end, nothing worked. I even gave him a five minute warning. "Capote!" I screamed. "I don't want you to be Capote..."

But Capote he is. Because it isn't my masterpiece. I tried to tell him we'd have everything we needed. I begged him to have a little faith. If not in Him, in me. And if not in me, in all womankind.

It's over. This chapter is. And there is no possible way to rewrite it.

I'm not angry or offended. I'm just sad. I didn't want it to end this way. With him I didn't want it to end at all.

Do you see me now? Do you believe me now when I tell you that all I needed from you was your friendship? That's all I was looking for. I would have brought everything else we needed to make this happen. I wish so badly you would have believed me. Because this time you really have broken my heart. Because yes, the clock ran out.

I bet I look a lot skinnier sitting next to a billionaire.

Don't I, Mayne?