Sunday Morning's Writing Warm-Up
Apr. 27th, 2009 01:15 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
teleidoplexI don't know how the other writers on my list get warmed up before a session, but here's an example from yesterday of what I tend to do:
Writer's block is just the act of not writing. This pithy observation doesn't offer a solution, but it sure sounds nifty. A blocked writer could get a lot of mileage out of it, repeating it like a mantra—not writing, not writing, not writing.
Interruptions are another rich source to mine. A thought or a sentence only flows as freely as the empty course of the page laid before it. Interruptions—be they momentary interjections from coffee shop servers as you're trying to get your daily writing engine started or larger digressions brought by life wrenching your head around and forcing your concentration away from the free flow of ink across a paper landscape—these are the pebbles and boulders and Hoover-fricken Dams that stopper all that inspiration and muck up your headwaters something fierce.
I must pause now, for a big plate of bacon has been set before me. One must always pause for bacon.
Mmm. Bacon.
Right. Where was I? Oh yeah—the distractions that keep a writer from writing…
Mmm. More bacon.
There are other things: research, editing, re-reading, world-building. The business side of writing. But none of these are as tasty as bacon, so I don't feel any great need to ruminate on them
Eggs and potatoes, they're interesting enough, but even with hot sauce, they are what they are. There's no sublime excess drawing me away from everything except devouring them mindlessly, and getting my fingers all greasy in the process.
No, bacon is my writers pitfall. Fatty, greasy, salty, unhealthy bacon. You just keep devouring it until it's gone.
WoW… is kinda like a never-ending plate of bacon for me. I need to figure out ways to put a few pieces on my plate and then step away from the table.
Complete non-sequitor in response to the stimuli of my environment: I totally want to write a Lost/Gilligan's Island crossover fanfic.
Right (Write? Wright?), back on track.
Tea.
It all comes back to tea with me. Tea does not distract. It centers. It soothes. It focuses. It warms the hands and the head, puts fire in the belly, and readies and steadies me for the work. I need to remember and apply this: bacon in moderation, tea in ubiquity.
Alright. Enough with the omphalaskepsicism. Time to segue into my fiction writing.
Writer's block is just the act of not writing. This pithy observation doesn't offer a solution, but it sure sounds nifty. A blocked writer could get a lot of mileage out of it, repeating it like a mantra—not writing, not writing, not writing.
Interruptions are another rich source to mine. A thought or a sentence only flows as freely as the empty course of the page laid before it. Interruptions—be they momentary interjections from coffee shop servers as you're trying to get your daily writing engine started or larger digressions brought by life wrenching your head around and forcing your concentration away from the free flow of ink across a paper landscape—these are the pebbles and boulders and Hoover-fricken Dams that stopper all that inspiration and muck up your headwaters something fierce.
I must pause now, for a big plate of bacon has been set before me. One must always pause for bacon.
Mmm. Bacon.
Right. Where was I? Oh yeah—the distractions that keep a writer from writing…
Mmm. More bacon.
There are other things: research, editing, re-reading, world-building. The business side of writing. But none of these are as tasty as bacon, so I don't feel any great need to ruminate on them
Eggs and potatoes, they're interesting enough, but even with hot sauce, they are what they are. There's no sublime excess drawing me away from everything except devouring them mindlessly, and getting my fingers all greasy in the process.
No, bacon is my writers pitfall. Fatty, greasy, salty, unhealthy bacon. You just keep devouring it until it's gone.
WoW… is kinda like a never-ending plate of bacon for me. I need to figure out ways to put a few pieces on my plate and then step away from the table.
Complete non-sequitor in response to the stimuli of my environment: I totally want to write a Lost/Gilligan's Island crossover fanfic.
Right (Write? Wright?), back on track.
Tea.
It all comes back to tea with me. Tea does not distract. It centers. It soothes. It focuses. It warms the hands and the head, puts fire in the belly, and readies and steadies me for the work. I need to remember and apply this: bacon in moderation, tea in ubiquity.
Alright. Enough with the omphalaskepsicism. Time to segue into my fiction writing.
