it's a great life, if you don't weaken (matociquala) wrote,
it's a great life, if you don't weaken
matociquala

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breathe in, breathe out, move on

So I know what's wrong with my head.

I know I've said this before, but I think I'm just going to have to keep writing it down until I internalize it, and start to pry my fingers off the ledge a little.

I've overengaged my left brain on this whole writing thing.

See, when one is learning to write, one has to go through a stage of learning that one's golden prose and soating narratives are pretty much crap. Sorry, guys--that's just the way it goes. And part of that is learning a critical function.

The Internal Editor, people call it.

I have a pretty well-developed one, these days.

What it really is, based on my understanding of neurology, is the critical analytical left brain working over everything the intuitive creative left brain unearths from the depths of the id and the subconscious (If I may be forgiven for resorting to Fraudian metaphors here for a moment) and turning it into something comprehensible by other mortals.

Well, my right brain used to be really good at pulling up characters and narrative and atructures, and putting them together and making them go. Lately, however, I've been having to do that as a left-brain function--intellectual rather than creative--and it makes everything a hell of a lot harder. Because now I have to think through and construct all of this stuff that used to be automatic, which means it feels very artificial and awkward. And the worst part is, it's wobblier, because all that brain back there under the conscious processes is a lot more powerful--can do a lot more work--than this pathetic little scrap of self we call an "I."

Anyway, right now what's going on is that I am doing just about everything consciously, rather than with the back brain, and that means I am painfully slow and awkward and it all is really hard. I have become like the centipede in the parable--the one who has been asked how on earth he runs without tangling up all those legs, and suddenly can't do it anymore.

So I just have to keep muddling in on my inadequate little left brain--pushing along on craft when I don't have the inspiration--trust the right brain is doing its thing back there even if it isn't telling me what has it so busy, and figure it will be back out sooner or later.

Of course, it's also not helping that I'm over that bout of hypergraphia I was having between 2001-2005 or so, and writing has (mostly) stopped being a compulsion, except when something really gets me by the throat and I have to write it now. Which is pretty much a good thing.

Except when I have deadlines.

Like, oh, now.
Tags: narcissism, navel gazing, writing craft wank
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