Anna S. (eliade) wrote,
Anna S.
eliade

Monday. No...wait.

From a Salon.com interview with Garrison Keillor about his new book:
Larry also comes down with a horrible case of writer's block, partially due to separation from his muse and partly due to indulging in a few too many cocktails. Have you ever been blocked as a writer and, if so, what do you attribute the blockage to? If not, how have you managed to prevent it?

Writer's block is what you get if you're too full of yourself and trying to be García Márquez. You sit and stare at the wall and nothing happens for you. It's like imagining you're a tree and trying to sprout leaves. Once you come to your senses and accept who you are, then there's no problem. I'm not García Márquez. I'm a late-middle-aged midlist fair-to-middling writer with a comfortable midriff, and it gives me quite a bit of pleasure.
Of course, he's being his usual glib self. The reasons can vary from person to person and be more complex. But I think he's on to something, which is the pressure of obligations--to be as great as the greats, to live up to a reputation, etc. And in the case of writing a WIP or a series, the longer you wait, the more you feel like: "It had better be fucking Nobel-prize worthy if they had to wait seven months!" And then you panic and feel slightly ill and go lie down and watch "Spiders 2" on Sci-Fi.

I have watched "Spiders 2." I actually made a huge list last night of all the horror movies I've ever watched. I was going to do capsule reviews. When the list reached 110 titles, I stopped and went to bed. I've watched more than that; those were just the ones I remembered off the top of my head.

Some business dink I work with is ticking me off today. I was prepared to do this helpful thing, and then this guy cut down my points, all terse and snotty, and I felt what so many people must feel every day: unnnnnnhelpful. This guy is all over my inbox this morning, and no matter what issue he's touching, I feel a sticky miasma spread through me, where I don't want ot be helpful, even if the point is in fact to help our *customers*, not *him*. It's an unpleasant feeling, like you might get just before you massively stop caring about your job and burn out into a heap of flaming wreckage that will ultimately land you in front of a fry bin at Burger King.

I need to ask myself, WWBKD? Brian Kinney would be a total prick, but he'd do his job well. Of course, Brian could also tell this guy to fuck the hell off. Then again maybe not. Brian wouldn't have gotten as far as he did, if he hadn't sucked it up when he had to. (Such a difference between "sucked it up" and "sucked up," by the way. And of course, "sucked off." Though maybe he's done all that too. Cynical bastard. How funny is it that I admire Brian for his *work ethic*? That and the ass. And the attitude. The assitude. Not admirable so much as enviable, actually, but...I'm rambling.)

Maybe if I eat lunch this feeling will go away.
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