But I don’t wanna…

Ugh. Endless days of gray. Horrible shootings on television. Bad moods because everyone around you seems Christmas-happy, the worst kind of happy. And that makes you kinda want to stab someone in the eye with a pen.

All of it adding up to a giant, maybe even petulant, whine of I don’t wanna





Pay bills

Christmas shop

Go to parties



Writing is hard. The willpower is ours alone. The work is, too. No one else can make us sit down and bang out 1000 words of beautiful, or really crappy, prose.  The easier path would be to turn on the television and watch judge shows. Yes, I DVR Judge Judy, so sue me. Her meanness appeals to me.

So despite knowing if we hear just one more Christmas song we may or may not stab someone in the eye, despite the gloomy days and long, long nights, despite the horrible news on TV writers must write the funny/happy/sad/ thrilling/introspective/sexy scenes even if all we want to do is lie unshowered on the couch.

(Yeah, it’s gross but it happens. Get over it prissy baby).

We have to fake it ’til we make it. And it works. Not always but often enough to push through. When a bad mood makes coming up with witty banter impossible I like to alliterate swear words to use elsewhere (foamy five-fingered frog f*cker) but I’m a cusser.  Whatever you need to do get the brain lined up where you need it. You do you, writers.

What I DON’T do in the throes of I don’t wanna is permanently cut scenes. I’ll tuck them into a file I named brilliantly “cut scenes” so when my willpower comes back and creativity is sparking again I can read over those cut scenes, sometimes finding a tiny gem, even if it’s just a line or two. Now if I allowed my bad mood to send those passages into the digital dump I’d never feel that flash of “holy cow this is pretty good. I don’t totally suck at this!” Writers need these flashes. We’re a needy bunch.

Writers are lucky. It’s the best and worst job in the world. We have absolute power in what happens in our stories. Hate your happy ending? Kill someone, make the reader sob. Hey, it works for John Green. Sick of editing your manuscript? *raises hand* Start something else, like, I don’t know, a blog post.

Oh, you don”t wanna? TOO FREAKING BAD JUST DO IT.

Next time you find yourself lying on the couch in your own filth, covered in corn chips, whining I don’t wanna just poke me and I’ll send you my warm, inspiring message.

Whoops. Hold on, is it… yes “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” just came on. Excuse me. *grabs pen*