The Death of a Writer

So, I’m trying to do better about blogging. A “hot” professor has been on me to build/maintain a better online platform. The truth is, I’ve been kicking ideas around for the past week, but I’ve failed to come up with a single good one- as far as blog topics are concerned- and that made me wonder: is it better to write crap than nothing?

Generally, I’d say no, but lately my stretches of writing nothing have become impossibly long. I suppose I could do a post on writer’s block, but that’s been done to death. Besides, that’s not my problem. I’m heartsick and homesick, and my writing is paying the price. I feel completely dead inside. My passion for the story hasn’t died, but something has. And it’s been dying slowly, day by day, since the moment I first unpacked my bags here. If I can, for a moment, steal a bit of melodrama from the Master of the Macabre himself. California will be the death of me- one way or the other. I truly believe that. Maybe not a physical death, but a spiritual one. If I can leave California without being completely jaded, it will be no small miracle.

And if I can finish the WIP without being institutionalized, I will confess, convert, and join a nunnery. I think I’d look pretty darn good in a habit. All jokes aside, I’d love to just lock myself away and write until my fingers bleed. Unfortunately, life will not allow it. Though, I’m certain it will… someday. Until then I suppose I will keep inching along, fingers crossed, silently praying for a change. For now, I’ll settle for writing crap. Anything’s better than nothing, right? Besides, it worked for a certain -ekhem!- vampire novelist.

Here’s hoping the next post is better.

P.K. Dawning.