Control: Writer’s Block

I, Dalton Lewis, don’t know what novel to write — I have at least three stuck in my mind, sitting there, waiting to come out, but none of them will come out and play just yet. My room contains a computer blaring an old REM song, Coke Zero for me to drink, and a fuckton of expensive wargaming miniatures, paints, and books. I don’t know what to write about — I love my fantasy epic, my sci-fi military story, and my religious novel about middle school students. None of them come out when I try to write. They sit there, in the back of my mind, screaming at me but staying back there. I have a new plan — as I read novels and watch television shows and movies I will analyze what works and what doesn’t and why and use that to write more effective novels. Simple, right? We will see.

It doesn’t help that I woke up just before five pm today. I don’t know what to say about that. I hate going to sleep and delay it as long as possible — last night I refused to sleep until the last possible moment. Then I woke up, groggy, several hours later, to take my nighttime pills the following morning, and then I went back to sleep. I missed a wargaming tournament yesterday because I couldn’t wake up in time to go to the tournament. What do we do in these instances? What happens when we can’t do the things we want to accomplish in life? What do we do when we know that we need to write more effectively, or make it to events, or get the job we want? I know that my quality of writing needs to improve, and I know that I need to play more effectively at strategy games, and I need a job, but don’t know how to do any of those things.

I sometimes don’t write for days or weeks at a time because the voices inside of my head are causing trouble for me. Paranoid schizophrenia wrecks my mind, and that causes me to have trouble with working out, eating well, and showering and shaving. That in turn wrecks my body. I have to fight past all that to write novels, blog entries, and fan fiction.

I remember in college when I was a sophomore trying to finish the first draft of my first novel, Illusionary Paintings. I would type a little and come up with some ideas and then I would type like mad for a few minutes, and then I would stop and think for a while. My roommate would be there, drawing or listening to music and studying. He was the best artist I ever knew — I think. I have known some great artists, and he was one. He also loved photography and always had an expensive camera.

Do you know why I don’t write every day? It is because when I turned in my first novel to my friends and family they said that it was okay. They said that it had great scenes but nothing else. They didn’t love my first novel, and I died inside. I had rejection letters from the first few agents I submitted novels to. I stopped after half a dozen rejections because people told me that my novel wasn’t very good. It’s hard to write after being told that you suck at writing. I sit there, at my computer, telling myself that I should continue, do the very best I can, fight, fight harder than anything to make it as a writer and continue despite the rejection letters and the friends saying that I’m not a good writer, and the way that it seems almost impossible to succeed in the large and terrifying world around me. I just have to continue despite all that bullshit piling up around me.

The thing is — I try to be a good person, trying hard to express myself, to take all the hatred and the fear and the paranoia and show it to the world, to show the world my everything. I started to write because I liked to express myself and show the world that I had these thoughts and emotions that I couldn’t express in normal, everyday conversation.

I just think that everyone needs to write and believe in themselves. Will they make it as a writer? Of course they will. Of course — dear reader, if you work really hard and give it your all that is enough. That will make you into a successful writer. That’s all it takes. Okay? You can succeed.

Thanks, and take care, friends.