My bed is calling

I'm having such a hard time getting started with writing. Yesterday, I spent hours going through fieldnotes, organizing and outlining the structure of my chapters. I even wrote two pages, a beginning. I should feel triumphant, I guess. But it was so hard, and I ended up so depressed. I haven't felt so bad in weeks. It just felt like wading back into a world of muck that I was so glad to leave behind. Today, when I should be building on this and making progess, I am yawning, feeling achey, looking longingly at my bed. There are so many things I would like to do, but how can I enjoy anything when I'm supposed to be writing? I must come up with a schedule that works for me, one that's productive but also humane.


  1. You know what's weird. When I first started my blog I made a promise to myself to post every day for 6 months and during that time, there were times when I was pulling my hair out trying to figure out what to write. There were days when I hated it and felt the same way you do in that the pressure of always having to write something put a smudge on everything else.

    When the 6 months finally finished, I figured I could slow things down, maybe even stop but it didn't turn out that way. Now it's like I can't stop writing. It's like I'm an addict and need to get in a daily dose. I try to force myself to take a break but it's not happening.

    Maybe that's all it is now: an addiction I need to wean myself off of. If I can bottle the stuff, I'll send you some. First hit's on the house.

  2. I need to get some of that! I'm glad you didn't slow down at the 6 month mark.

    I love to write, at least sometimes, but not this sort of stuff. This isn't my usual kind of writing, since it shouldn't be narcissistic navel-gazing or boring academic paper. It needs to work on different levels - narrative, exposition, interpretation - and somehow manage be engaging. So it's just plain hard.

    I'm thinking of an approach I tried once before that worked fairly well, free writing. And seeing what comes of it. It's too much pressure to produce something useful right off, but for some reason I thought I was ready to go there. I guess not!