Now Playing: SKYFALL by Thomas Newman
Ebbs and flows--that's how art goes sometimes, no? Feast or famine. Drizzle or deluge. In October-November, I could barely keep up with myself. I had ideas that leaked out into completed stories even if I didn't feel like writing them. Now, I've got three or four good story ideas, and they don't want to leave my brain in search of a new home on paper.
It's been a busy January--moving to Southern California, starting a new job, getting used to a new area, making new friends and keeping up with old ones. And in times like these the first thing that suffers is my writing. The thing is, it's always something you can come back to or do later or do tomorrow. When you're a young writer, without an agent or deadline, you are the only thing that keeps you writing.
My muse is in the mirror. I write for myself, because I love it and because it's cathartic and because I wouldn't be me without it. I'm in the ebb stage now, the famine, the drizzle. Not writer's block--that's something else entirely--just writer's neglect. It's not okay, not a great way to start off the new year or my 2014 W1S1 challenge.
Listening to the Skyfall soundtrack right now, all I can think of is the new M asking, "Now then, Devin. Are you ready to get back to work?" and my response, "With pleasure, M. With pleasure."