Feeling Down? Turn that Frown into Something Useful and Empowering!

Whenever I finish a good book, I look at my own draft and go, "You can do this." Then my fingers wisp across the keyboard, thoughts flowing and going. It's wonderful. Whenever I read a fantastic book that shocked me with how incredible it was, with everything I love and more -- I end up looking at my draft like it's a stinky pile of poo. No one wants to read poo. No matter how well that poo is that constructed. It's still poo. Poo is poo.

Poo.

These are the moments you have to hike up your skirts (because in this metaphor, we're all prissy, mopey ladies of he Victorian era) and find confidence. I know, easier said then done, but I've faced this crippling self depletion so many times now, I've found a few methods to use this emotion to gain the drive to finish my story.

1) Read a crappy book. 

If reading a well written book makes you want to write,while a superb book makes you want to crawl in a hole, then what do you think a "crappy" book does for you? That's right, it makes you feel good about your poo writing. We all have different definitions of crappy books (read my book reviews and you'll see my tastes and distastes alike), so I giving a list of CRAP is pointless. But do yourself a favor, go to the library or a book store. Look through all the shelves and find a book you've been seeing everywhere, yet you refuse to read. Or a book that you know isn't your type of genre or looks bad (in YOUR OPINION). Pick that book up, take it home (make sure you purchase it. I don't want people blaming me for stealing) and read it. If it falls under the CRAP category (hey, it might end up being  awesome) in your book, then by the end you'll be thinking your draft is gold.

But remember, one man's shit is another man's treasure.

2) Lurk author/publishing blogs.

I do this on a daily basis, but even more when I'm flat on the floor in my own puddle of pity. Here's some new interesting information: authors have been through the same experiences of writing a book! Hell, they still face them. They're just like us! Isn't that awesome? One particular author I love to lurk and read about is Veronica Roth. 24 and already a New York Times Best-Selling Author. Only two years older than me. Whenever I read about her success I pout a bit. At 22 her first book Divergent was published -- I have until August do to the same (this is a joke. Mostly). But when I visit her blog, I find that she's suffering in the same ways as I am. And not only does she talk about her struggles, but what she's learned as a writer (a young one, like me). The other day she posted a response to the hundreds of people always asking for advice for young writers. Not only did she give some very humbling steps, but references to help improve and shape writing. This one post easily makes things brighter, and this is one author's blog. There are hundreds, your favorites included with awesome blogs, with awesome, uplifting advice.

Publishing blogs are similar, but not similar. They too shed advice but on what agents, editors and publishers are looking for; currently or in the future. Sometimes I feel good ("Yes, I'm well aware of what editors like." "Yes, I'm doing that correctly") other times I feel like biting every nail off, including my toes ("Oh man, I think mine would fall under that." "Gah, does this mean I should change that?"). I try not let it effect my first draft -- it's only one of many. But I do take this time to research, to sharpen my focus once again.

3) Talk to someone about it

When you're feeling down about anything, the best solution is talking to someone about it. Feeling down about your writing, story telling skills is no different. If you have no friends that "understand" or are willing to "listen" to your writing woes, well there are other ways. The Internet I hear nowadays is big. You're not the only one who wants someone to talk to, looking for some comfort.

4) Write about it

The very reason I begun this blog was to keep my writing spirits up. I knew tough times were a comin' so I decided to do something about it. If you're wanting something to bounce your thoughts off of, start a blog, write a short poem or story (about a writer who can't find the motivation to keep writing). Write a detailed e-mail or letter to a family friend. Write! Writing is a form of expression, happy, sad, mad, down--express yourself. Let it all out. I guarantee you'll find something uplifting in your own writing. Maybe you'll start another book along the way...

Up Late. Up Early.

The most difficult thing about writing, besides finding time, is putting an idea into words.

Oh wait.

These past few days, instead of stumbling forward, pushing through unpointed dialogue and hazy plot points--writing, I go back and clean, edit, revise. Writing when my mind is still foggy on the details is not so much as difficult, than it is torturous. Everything I put on paper feels wrong, out of place. I fear that my prose somehow changed when forced, that the narrator's voice suddenly is something different and foreign. The ideas aren't flowing through my fingers and it feels as if I'm slapping them on the page like some barbarian with a stick.

So instead, I go back and play with what already has been "written."

I've read from authors, agents, books, guides and so forth that revising while writing is a big "no no." Push and shove through the first draft, then suffer the sufferings of revising and editing. Makes perfect sense. Why waste time on playing around with old material when you could write, play with the new? You don't know where you're going until you've reach the end. Why bother trying to tweak things without fully knowing if it needed to be tweaked in the first place.

Great advice, right? Sounds like a plan.

Easier said then done.

Honestly, my issue at the moment has to do with involvement. I've been so busy with school, family, work--life--that when faced with my imagination, I can't quite grasp the same emotional drive that had overcame me before. Everything I type out feels lame compared to the paragraphs prior. Don't want to sound my age (woppin' 22) but, it sucks. It sucks hard. I know the technicalities of the plot, but I'm detached from the characters. How am I suppose to write well developed people when I don't even feel for them? How am I suppose to draw readers to these characters when I can't even draw them to myself?

These are the issues I face weekly, trying to dive back into my draft. These are the flickers of moments where I want to bang my head against my keyboard, praying something better will appear. Actually anything other than what I had written before is better.

But I march on. I have to believe that I'll find my groove once again, that I'll be like this with my protagonists and we'll be hand in hand--well, I'll be dragging them along, while they kick and scream. So, it's time to go and write.

I have this phobia of burdening others.

No really. I like to think of myself independent, but the joke is on me. I have not a stich in my name, nor am I capable of supporting myself economically. How can I keep a stable job if I can hardly get though school?

This past year has been the most difficult year...of my life, possibly. Not because school was hard (I neglected and hid from that). Not because I suffered an illness or injury that put me through hell (I didn't do enough to cause injury or catch an illness). And certainly not because I suffered some great tragedy (unless you count getting into a car accident). No, this past year I've suffered internally. Mentally. Emotionally. I doubted myself and instead of turning outward, reaching for help, I imploded.

Since I'm dependent on others, despite how much I hate it, I ended up hurting others.

Reality scares me, so I hide from it. Ironically, when I don't hide from reality--when I take the bull by the horns--I grasp it well. But it's work and lets be honest, I hate hard work. Hard work leads to stress, and stress leads to tears, and tears lead to doubts, doubts lead to thoughts I rather avoid.

I started this blog as part of a new beginning. A new beginning for my writing and for me.

Everything is out in the open now. Instead of feeling guilt for burdening--no, not burdening, asking for help from others, I'm trying to feel relief. That I'm not alone. That someone can put an arm around me or rub my back as I fail or succeed.

So what does this have to do with writing? Writing has always been my outlet. It's always been the one hobby, no matter how depressed I've become, that I continue to do (though at times I look at writing more as a "thing" rather than a "need"). But writing is a private thing (see!?). Blogs are not. Having a writing blog is putting my private thoughts and insecurities out there. Yes, I said private. Yes, I'm aware that no one actually reads this. But here's the truth: it's an illusion. I'm deceiving my feelings, tricking them into thinking they're being released.

It works. It does. I still need to talk to people outside the Internet of course, but written/typed words are my forte and love. It make sense to cope with my weakness with my strengths.

Anyway, on that note. I wrote like 56 words in the past two days. Obviously writing during the school week is not working out, but it's always there in my mind. My brain is always coming up with ideas and working out characters. I'm always taking notes and thinking about updating this blog. Because I said I would. SO I am.

Sometimes it's Okay.

Classes started today.

Woke up at 6:30 am. Sat in about an hour of traffic (though it shouldn't have taken me nearly an hour. Damn you LA with your sporadic congestion). Spent all day at school. Got home around four. Did some e-mailing via professors and councilor. Worked out. Watched Hell on Wheels. Ate. Worked on Victorian Lit homework. Sighed for about ten minutes in self pity. Played on Photoshop for about five. Worked on blog.

And now I'm here.

What's missing from that paragraph?

If you guessed writing, then you've won a brand new metaphorical car! It will be sitting on your front lawn in about a week, give or take. Now go have fun! Be safe you crazy kids.

WORD COUNT: 0

But yea. As you can see, again, I failed to write. Honestly, I'm not too miffed over it. Things needed to be straightened out desperately before I could even sit down and play around with the Internet. Writing was not the priority here and that's okay.

It's okay.

Currently, my job--my career is school. Writing isn't the bread and butter of my life. At the moment it acts as an hobby, and in the event that I do get published (knock on wood) then I can panic about not writing my daily 1k. As of now, I must keep a calm head about it. And even if this entire week that big fat, yellow zero fills up the entire page, then so be it. But this weekend, I'll make up for it.

So help me God, I will make up for it.

And that's all that matters, right?