A Voice from the Grave

Jim McDougal may not be stopped, but I sure am. 

I recently gt invited to (and joined) a group aimed at getting aspiring writers into writing. The group posts work on a shared drive, and then folks make comments on each other's work.

I put up an older piece, just to get a sense of what the group thought of my skill and ability level. So far, I've found that the criticism of my work is fair, but there's a lot of it.

I'm ok with that for the most part. I don't have too much of an ego; and getting better at writing is something I am interested in doing- whether now or over time. But that's my problem. I can't get better because I can't seem to write.

I have been blocked or stalled for ideas for months. I simply have no idea what to write about. I'm not currently gaming and haven't been for over a year. I'm only casually "arting". However, that process is slow moving and the most baby stepped place I have been in for a long time and I don't think it's of interest to gaming people. (I might be wrong- it does happen.)

I asked a friend to challenge me to write a story hook, and he gave me a lyric to use as inspiration. So far, I haven't had a lot of luck coming up with anything more than a hair of an idea for "putting out fires with gasoline". I'm still sketching out the thought I do have because I think it could be cool.  Putting words to paper /typing on the computer has been a lot harder than I ever imagined it might be several years ago when I started this blog, and I haven't been able to figure out what I want to do; or even if I want to do anything at all with it.

I can't use yarn because I can't knit. Is this blog my mental yarn?

I reviewed some of my archives and I remember loving writing and having a lot to say. I have stuff in drafts from months (almost a year)  ago, but none of it inspires me or causes me to want to write. Very little is motivating to me at this point, which is causing me a lot of concern.

Even the alliterations I know and love are beyond me at this point. It seems I'm spinning my wheels and I have nothing to get me out of the mud.

But a dear friend sent me a nice email, and asked me what was going on here. It was kind of nice to know someone out there liked what I was doing when I was writing. I don't know that I have any real answers for my pal, but I'm writing something; anything- just to be writing again.

Beauty Is Where You Find It

I have finally deconstructed the wall of boxes, re-arranged the items inside them, and assembled the contents into something slightly resembling a home.

My last project was the gaming shelves. My husband (The Dude) and I have a pretty sizable collection of RPGs, and when I originally unpacked them, I just threw them on the shelves in a desperate, mad effort to get them out of boxes.

In our former place, The Dude's stuff comprised a single 6' bookshelf. I had a smidgen of stuff, but I kept it separate from his (in a joking conversation, I told him his stuff had cooties). The gaming stuff must have had a lot of hot nights, because his stuff populated itself with MORE stuff. We now have two 6' shelves full of gaming stuff.

One of those shelves is my stuff. I filled it up with my books- old and new. Among the boxes of stuff I unpacked was my Earthdawn collection. I was taken back to when I first encountered Earthdawn.

It's not really a secret that I don't like fantasy games at all. For the most part, I find fantasy to be akin to camping-dusty, dirty, uncomfortable, full of bugs & other disgusting creatures; just plain ugly. But Earthdawn is a major exception. From the minute I opened the book, I was entranced. I loved the setting, the story, and the absolutely breathtaking detail that went into the "history" of the game. (I'll admit the mechanics stink.)

I love the game again for all the same reasons (and admit the mechanics stink just as easily). It's beautiful.