I'm trying to write stories and the current one i'm on i can keep in my head, but when i go to put it on paper or computer, i lose interest. How do i get past this. It happens to me every time i try to write.
I don't care if people know me. I'm just there. I'm like the lead
based paint in a Chinese sweat shop. There.
At 2/27/10 05:46 PM, Earthshine wrote: lock yourself in a room with only a pen and paper and don't let yourself out until your done.
Not an option. I have school. I can't skip. Thank you, though.
I don't care if people know me. I'm just there. I'm like the lead
based paint in a Chinese sweat shop. There.
You say you have school...there was a time I did most of my writing during especially tedious science classes. This probably wouldn't work if you're university, but the point is when you get started is when writing seems a better and more interesting use of your time than your other options, and maybe the the story takes off from there. Bring along a notepad for when you have to wait for some appointment, anything that makes the option of writing present. Sometimes a competitive setting or deadline is also helpful for motivation, like the monthly writing contests or short story and poetry battles.
This month's writing competition: MWC10: Jan/Feb: The Tale of Two Stories
Just read through the promp and the rules. It ends the 8th of March, so if you intend on participating, I suggest you start now.
The discussion thread, if you have any questions about it, is here.
Compos Mentis
I first noticed the whistle two hours ago. I was at a restaurant. I do not remember what the name of the restaurant was. I just know i was having lunch. My lunch consisted of hamburger and fries. I paid for with cash. Not credit cards. Ever. No need for unwanted attention. Anyway, i was eating lunch when the whistle started. It was low at first, and i do not know why it came. I was having a nice, intelligent conversation with a man. It had to be intelligent, as i have no kind of conversations. The whistle was soft, like my ears were about to pop. I ignored it for awhile. Five minutes to be exact. After that, i could no longer hear what the man was saying on account of the loud whistle. The whistle did not stop there, oh no. It got even louder and louder until i had to leave. I suppose that is what happened, as i do not remember. Everything became a blur of faces and buildings. At one point, I know my head started to hurt badly. It felt like my head was splitting in two. Then, I blacked out, which was a mercy from God, I suppose. Fifteen minutes ago, I awoke on my couch. I am now in my hallway, staring at myself in the mirror. The pain in my head is obvious now. I have a deep gash in my right temple. I do not remember how i got it, but i know it is scabbed over, so it was awhile ago. I do not recognize myself in the mirror. My skin is pale, and I have the appearance of vigilante. I cannot look in this mirror anymore. The face is too unbearable. It is not mine. I turn away from the mirror. The hallway is different from what I remember. The walls are now blue, when I remember them to be red. The floor is wood, when all of my floors are carpeted to prevent injury. No need for hospital visits. Doctors ask too many questions. They are too curious. Curiosity killed the cat, as they say. They also say that a cat has nine lives, so who took the other eight. The Devil perhaps. And who is they? Why am i having thoughts about the Devil and cats? I want out of the hallway. It is tight and uncomfortable. I am in my bedroom. How did i get in here? Did i walk? I don't know...but my bedroom is different. It has animals all over it and two beds. My walls were plain white and I am not married and only have one single bed. Why is my house so different? I see out the window in between the beds. It is dark outside. What? Dark? I just had lunch not two hours ago in broad daylight? How long was i out?
I don't care if people know me. I'm just there. I'm like the lead
based paint in a Chinese sweat shop. There.
