Monday, June 7, 2010

Adventures in Writing, part 1

After way too long, it was time for me to write again and I had no ideas. None. I couldn't even dredge up any of my old familiar standby characters for a good romp or a kill. Or both. How lame could I possibly be? How defective am I?

The timer ticked on. Never mind that it was digital and didn't actually TICK. I could hear it. Deep inside my brain, I could hear it. Stupid brain. Apparently, I was more defective than I thought.

Pulling back from my laptop, I glared at the blinking cursor on the blank page. Evil little fucker. Why must it mock me so?

There was only one thing I could do. Drink. I could drink brandy -- What the hell?! I always seem to be out of scotch and whiskey. -- or I could drink tea. A glance at the clock reminded it me that it was only a little after 10am. Maybe tea would be the better the choice.

Fifteen minutes later, a warm cup of tea in my hands, I closed my eyes and let myself drift. Somewhere in the depths of my mind were characters and story ideas. Clearly I'd just forgotten how to access them, to summon them. I let the sharp aroma of my tea carry me deeper into the recesses of the twisted maze that is my mind. I knocked away cobwebs in areas not accessed for far too long. I felt like an explorer, only less mobile and a lot more appalled. When the hell did I last use my brain?

I pushed deeper, past thicker cobwebs with strange creatures and ideas both trapped in the cobwebs and scurrying past them. I'm fairly certain I don't want to know what the fuzzy thing that just ran over my foot was. Not today, anyway. I cringed at the layers of dust and grime covering every surface. No wonder I have headaches. My brain is corroding from lack of use.

I'd vaguely recognized some of the ideas I often let roam free trapped in the cobwebs, but only a few of them. Where were the rest? Where were all my characters?

I screamed and called out them, hoping they'd hear me, hoping they'd come to me. They didn't. I pushed onward with loud apologies for neglecting them, promises to not let it happen again, and pleas for help. All I got in return was that damned ticking, more dust and grime, and thicker cobwebs.

I continued onward until, finally, sighing in defeat, I sank to my knees on a pile of dust -- dear God, I hope that's just dust and not the remains of a character that died from neglect -- and cradled my head in my hands. Feeling abandoned, disheartened, and hopelessly lost, I started to cry.

Abandoned. My characters had every right to abandon me. This was my fault. There was no way around that. I had created a fantastic world for them and then let it fall to ruins from lack of attention. I had ignored and neglected a part of me that I very dearly loved and it had withered and died.

And I didn't know how to fix it.

So, I cried.

I cried hard and loud, but not out of self-pity. I cried in mourning for all I had created then destroyed with my carelessness. I cried hot tears of self-loathing. I didn't deserve to be the creator of such fantastic people and places. I couldn't care for them properly. I cried tiny rivers, which flowed over my cheeks and fell to the floor to mix with the dust beneath my knees, making small puddles of mud. I cried with body-wrenching sobs until I was exhausted. And then I slept; slept in the mud of my own making, completely unaware of the changes happening around me.


Love and bondage,
Rubi Jayne <3<3

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