Writing the next Great American… shoot, I’m stuck again!

My mind has always had a way of working in overdrive. As an only child, before my siblings were born, my imagination was wildly colorful and ran rampant as I dashed all over the small yard of our shared townhouse, jumping from swings and sandboxes into the clouds, sliding on rainbows to return back to Earth. I had an imaginary friend who loved to visit with my middle-aged neighbor, spinning in her beauty shop chairs and playing hopscotch on the chalked up sidewalk in front of our residences.

Growing up meant more and more exposure to television. The experts have always claimed that too much exposure to the visual side of media is detrimental to the development of children’s imaginations. I turned that idea on its head with my elaboration of plot lines, acting out of familiar scripts with my own crazy twists in front of my bathroom mirror. I became an active part of these stories, a creative participant, not just a passive viewer, as most experts suggest is the case. My ability to create stories was still working.

Fast forward to adulthood.

I’ve been through a lot. Many might say that I’ve already endured more than one human should have to in an entire lifetime… and I’m only around a third of the way through. Gone are the days of the carefree little girl, rafting down the Amazon looking for treasure, riding in a covered wagon settling on the Prairie, or becoming the toast of Madison Avenue complete with parties to celebrate nothing in particular in my overly pretentious, fabulous penthouse. (Yes, I was an advanced child.)

It has been suggested that I write it out. I have always had a way with words… but also an unholy marriage with dreadful writer’s block. There is enough material in my heart, mind and soul to fill several volumes, but I cannot seem to focus enough to get started.

Ever the perfectionist, the writer’s block trouble really started to present itself in university. Never one to believe in rough drafts… ridiculous, I know… I wanted to get it all down in one go. I’ve always believed that post-editing, minus the ever essential grammar and spelling checks, was for the weak. After all, I shouldn’t have to waste time shifting, deleting, FILTERING, if I’m confident in what I’m writing (now typing) out directly.

The truth is, I can’t bear to see my work, the little creations of my mind, displayed visually in black and white type in any sort of flawed fashion.

At any stage. (Oy vey… really?!)

Strike one.

I know that I need to get past this in order to become a good writer. I know how essential it is to rework, re-piece and edit down.

I also know how scary it is to summon it all back to the surface.

Strike two.

I have had a story, a real life tale of love, lust, betrayal and loss, brewing for several years now. A story I feel compelled to tell, even if only to get it out of my system. Then come the fears…

Will writing this affect how far I’ve managed to come emotionally?

Will writing this affect how those that I love, and have come to love, view me?

Then there are all of the logistics. (Strike 3?)

I LIKE being funny. I’m the girl who has always been known for her smile, however genuine or genuine LOOKING it may appear. Even when I’m in the most serious of situations, I tend to use humour as a defense mechanism. You can’t hurt as badly whilst you’re laughing, right?

I don’t want to write a tale of woe. There’s enough despair in the world without adding to it with just another crappy sob story. Plus, if it’s going to be a story about me, I have to write it from a place of experience… which would ultimately require some silly smartassery.

It’s part of my charm.

The last pre-writing hurdle is WHAT I should write. Though I know these happenings could result in a fairly bang-up first shot chick lit novel, they also lend themselves VERY well to the theatrical genre. It is most definitely an intriguing concept, the thought of writing it as a play.

Then again, a musical would be the ultimate rendering of the facts at hand.

Of course, with the way that Broadway is today, a novel turned movie turned show might just be the way to go…

But no Spiderman stunts, please.

~ by sillyauntjen on February 26, 2011.

One Response to “Writing the next Great American… shoot, I’m stuck again!”

  1. Go for it!!! I know what you mean about drafts…. I always wrote for the final product, not for the draft. I sat in front of a blank page until I had every word perfect in my ind, then finally wrote it down. And then came the endless editing-as-you-go… I was never one to splooge it all out at once and polish it later. It had to be perfect from the start. UGH. Hence never following my very first childhood dream career: mystery novel writer XD

    I think you’d make for an awesome story-teller, and hope that you’re able to find the courage and willpower to move forward with a writing project… I’d love to read it 🙂

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