Negative Writing Space.

This picture has little to do with this entire post. I just like it. If this bothers you, please send a written complaint to someone who gives a shit.

This picture has little to do with this entire post. I just like it. If this bothers you, please send a written complaint to someone who gives a shit.

As discussed in my last post I am living my life at rock bottom at the moment, feeling like an emotional and physical train wreck survivor. To be honest though, as a person who spend the majority of her life literally at the bottom of the world, right below sea level, I feel quite comfortable having some quiet time until my mind and heart are healed again.

What is way more frustrating (than getting my heart broken and my brain scanned, because let’s keep it in perspective people!) is that I am currently writing at a negative pace. As promised (to myself) I write- almost every day- a whole bunch of words down. I think I average just over 500 a day, which isnt’t all that much. But I think it is still impressive considering the fact that I have to nurture my alcohol addiction (just kidding mom, it’s a pill addiction), google pictures of fat, angry, dressed up cats and my brain trying to throb it’s way out of my skull at the same time.

Of course, to you- a mere mortal- 500 words a day may still seem impressive. Perhaps because you are much better at math than me, and can quickly figure out that if I am telling the truth, that adds up to about 3500 words a week, which is 15,000 a month. Given that the typical novel averages at around 60,000 words, at this pace, I should be putting my finishing touches on something resembling the size and scope of the bible (but of course, of much more cultural importance and way more references to Brad Pitt’s naked torso.)

Except that I’m not. At the time of procrastinating on this blog post, I am stuck at 10,833 words. Which is, now that I’m thinking about it, not as bad as I thought. Except that a week ago I was somewhere around 14,000 words. So rather that progressing, in some ways I am moving backwards.

Today for instance, I wrote about 1200 words. But now, at the end of a grueling writing session (without any coffee, I should add) I’m actually stuck at minus 1600 plus words. I know this because I meticulously keep track. With every word I write, I can see my own statistics glaring at me from my screen, counting up word for word… but the last few days mostly counting down. (I do whatever I can to make myself feel like a lazy failure)

Screen shot 2013-01-27 at 6.10.34 PM

Welcome to my fucking world.

How come, you ask? Can’t you just stop keeping track and pretend writing is fun or something?

Well, to answer your question…  Getting beat up in a dark alley, drunk dialing your ex and getting hit by a truck (simultaneously) are all things I consider to be way more fun than writing. But you don’t do those things, you say. Well, first of all; fuck you, how do you know? Second of all… No, sorry…. I got nothing…. No funny come back or something to make this seem less like a dumb segue that I am too lazy to edit out.

I just wanted you to know that I don’t really enjoy writing.

Well, than it’s probably a good thing you don’t write all that many words… why are you fucking even complaining about it and wasting my fucking precious time!! Don’t you know I have stocks and shares to buy and poor people to oppress?!

Will you shut the fuck up for a minute, imaginary reader who happens to be an oppressive dictator because that is what I think the average readership of this blog is! I didn’t ask you for your opinion. You don’t see me come to your (imaginary) blog and interrupt you when you are busy writing boring pieces about how you are writing negative words (or killing puppies, because you’re a vile dictator and that’s what you do for fun on Wednesdays).

(Hey, everyone looking back from the future when I really am in the asylum… You really can’t say there were no signs of my impending mental collapse.)
Anyways, sorry about that. The things I do to not have to write a story…  Getting back to me complaining about boring shit in… 5…4…3…2…

Basically what happens is that every day I write way more words than I end up with. I think about half of everything I write bites the dust before the day is over. The rest will be erased over the course of the next few days. And slowly, but gently I’m shaping this tale into something that is both amazing and heart breaking (read: self indulging and cringe-worthy). Because it is relatively easy to write a thousand words in an hour, what is much, much harder is for those words to form logical sentences and actually make sense. And if you want all of those sentences to shape and build together to something even bigger… It takes time and a lot of rewriting.

And sometimes you get stuck, and there is nothing to do but trash 2000 words. Not all of them bad, in fact, some of them are great. (Obviously, since I wrote them). And I would say that gets frustrating (as I did when I started this post). But it really doesn’t. Because I am building a house of words, and if the foundation isn’t solid. There is no point in continuing.

So yes, most days I really hate writing. It’s a drag and you feel you end up with nothing but good intentions and bad sentences. But in the end, I know that what I hate even more than writing is not writing. So, I am condemned to crawl behind my shitty old computer and punch away on the keys, feel like a talentless hack and do it anyways. Because it’s kind of all I have. (Hey people with real jobs and lives, don’t you feel great about yourself right now?!)It’s coincidentally also what I came here to do, so the fact that I am finally, consistently doing it gives me some small feeling of pride. (at this point in time, I’ll take what I can get)

I may be writing at a negative pace right now, but in the end, I am still almost 11,000 words into a story that is kind of funny (it’s about suicide. Always a hoot). And I am learning all new kinds of things (mostly about killing yourself -for instance, did you know it was painful and unpleasant– and the Looney Tunes).

And someday soon, I might post the first chapter here. So you guys can tell me whether I am the genius many prophets once proclaimed I was, or if I just should get on with it and kill myself. (Just kidding, I am totally waiting for that Apocalypse. I’m crossing my fingers for either zombies or an ice age!)

Scariest. Fucking. Thing. Ever.

Scariest. Fucking. Thing. Ever.

P.S.

The first person that emails me saying that perhaps writing would go a lot faster if I didn’t waste 1200 words on a blog post where I mostly talk to my imaginary dictator friend and ramble on about boring shit that really no one in the world gives a shit about except myself…  can expect a bullet engraved with his or her name in the mail.

Maniacal laugh

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