A Dedication and a Call

The Dedication:
Today's post is dedicated to the memory of one E. Gary Gygax.

While I do realize that I'd never heard the man's name before today, I do know that, in his collaborative efforts with Dave Arneson, he has brought many people together in unexpected ways, including some of my semi-immediate family members. Gary and Dave's creation not only spawned an entire subculture of gamers, but elevated nerdhood into a sort of role-playing ideal for many who, before then, were merely shunned and outcast. Although many of them are still seemingly shunned and outcast. But now, as I've already indicated my lack of thorough knowledge on the subject, I will cease this and perhaps allow someone who knows more about it than I do to pick up on the eulogistic banter.

But now, I have a few comments regarding a recent post of that same someone. Timothy mentioned in his blog today that he has fallen into the realm of lacking inspiration when it comes down to novel-writing. And man, do I know what that's like. I have been nitpicking (and even with that, not so very enthusiastically) my own novel-in-progress, and I'm rather certain that I'm at a place a few rungs, a trip, and a twelve-story fall down off that ladder and scaffolding. Why did I put a ladder on scaffolding? I mean, really.

Not feeling motivated--or more specifically, not feeling inspired--is probably the hardest thing a writer faces. Some refer to it as "writer's block"...a horridly misguided comparison. What it is, more or less, is that (speaking in first person, since this is my experience with it) I falter in thought on what I should write next, or what I had intended to write next, or what would work better in the context of what I'm writing. At that point, tangential thought begins its meandering in infinite probable and improbable directions until I give up for the time being. There are some cases, like the aforementioned novel-in-progress, wherein I look at where I left off and am entirely discouraged, because I don't know exactly what should go next. I let my unsureness build into perhaps even a slight degree of despair, and I respond to that, as I normally respond to despair, with apathy. Then the apathy overtakes and enfolds me within its blessed (cursed, really) ignorance.

I can't honestly say that I have looked at that unfinished novel recently with any full-blown intent to work on it. I know that there are some good friends, family, and colleagues who are looking forward to the finished product, but I don't seem to heed that as motivating. When someone mentions that I should work on it, my mind immediately falls back on sulking about how I would work on it if I had the time (even though I don't bother to make time for it). I was averaging probably over 2,000 words a week on it when I first started...and in that case, it was because it was new and exciting (and for a class). But I haven't added a single word probably in months. And all the little "encouragements" people try to give me, although I know how purely well-meaning these are, are having an unwitting recusant effect.

It's not that I don't appreciate the encouragement. I really do need it. But before it will be worthwhile, I need to have started working on the story again. I need to actually be writing in order for others' encouragement to write to become effective. "So do it, then" I can hear someone saying in reply to my nonsense...I only hear this in my head because it was spoken aloud to me at one point in my trying to get myself back into writing. Why doesn't the attempted motivation inspire me to action? Well, I really don't know. It's just how my mind processes things, I suppose. I would like to spend my time writing extensively, and having a job that provides absolutely no time for writing whatsoever is somehow the greatest motivator I have at the moment.

Weird, huh? I have supportive people all around me, I want to do this, it's a life's dream, it would be my ideal job, I'm good at it, and so on and so forth. But none of this motivates me nearly as much as not having the time to do what I would like to do. My current job consists of proofreading for approximately 7.5 hours each weekday (I do get 15 minute morning and afternoon breaks, but I use those for reading whatever book I'm trudging through at the moment). So, there's not much time for me to get down to this writing business, especially with only having a half-hour lunch. Don't get me wrong--I do like my job. Most days. But it's not the job I want to end up with. I don't know how much longer it will be my job. Awhile for sure, because the insurance and benefits are rather good overall. And because I told them I'd stay for at least a year in my initial interview and want to make good on that.

But I am hoping that my writing will take off so that I can build some residual income and be able to afford things without being employed by the corporate world. Sometimes, I wish we could go back to the days of apprenticeship--the pre-Industrial Revolution era. Charlie Chaplin had some quite good points on that matter, for sure. But I do also enjoy many of the results of that same revolution. Maybe that seems unrelated, but here's the link: if I could be a writer's apprentice, I would very much prefer that over struggling through corporate stratagems while trying to tie myself to the unconnected apprenticeship of some of the great authors with whom I will likely never commune in the slightest. My job would be to work on developing my writing skills. Writing wouldn't be a side project. It would be the main, and I would be forced to do it to earn my keep. Maybe that's what I need, after all. Merely to be financially forced to write. But hey, maybe it isn't. Maybe I just need a mentor in the realm of authorship. Or maybe I need to be a mentor myself. Mayhap both?

The Call:
Which brings me to an idea that's been rattling my mental sprockets (notice the reference to industrialization again--in comedy, that's known as a callback) for some time now. I'd like to collect and form a writing guild (or group, if you prefer) of sorts, in the manner of the Inklings, although it won't necessarily entail meeting at a pub and it won't necessarily consist of only males. I think it would be wise for the writers (and those aspiring or desiring to write) among us. I believe I have mentioned this in passing before now, but I wanted to know who is actually interested, as well as any additional ideas for this undertaking--but, as for dissensions, I don't want to hear any of it. So, if you're going to just point out problems with the idea, then keep mum. Right then.

I do suppose that's all I have to say at the moment. Hm...I think that may well have been longer than my last post. I should probably keep this paragraph short then, yes? Okay, I will. Thanks for reading.