As many of you probably know, I have been complaining to no end about my being unable to start a new project, about being unable to move on from TRC. It’s not that I’m being lazy. I’ve spent hours outlining possible plot lines. I’ve spent hours trying to force myself to start a new novel. I’ve spent hours writing without inspiration. All these failed attempts have literally been driving me nuts. My poor sister had to witness me throwing myself onto the bed, pulling at my hair, and screaming into my pillow. Seriously. I felt that I should be prolific like other writers, being able to work on many projects, or at least writing one story per year. But I’ve finally come to accept the fact that I’m a different sort of writer with her own pace. Yes, I may be slower than other writers–it might “decrease my potential” of becoming an established writer with this slow pacing of mine–but so what? I’m not writing for the money after all. (WARNING: the following piece may be a bit offensive…but it is amazingly powerful):

“So You Want To Be A Writer,” Charles Bukowski

if it doesn’t come bursting out of you
in spite of everything,
don’t do it.
unless it comes unasked out of your
heart and your mind and your mouth
and your gut,
don’t do it.
if you have to sit for hours
staring at your computer screen
or hunched over your
typewriter
searching for words,
don’t do it.
if you’re doing it for money or
fame,
don’t do it.
if you’re doing it because you want
women in your bed,
don’t do it.
if you have to sit there and
rewrite it again and again,
don’t do it.
if it’s hard work just thinking about doing it,
don’t do it.
if you’re trying to write like somebody
else,
forget about it.
if you have to wait for it to roar out of
you,
then wait patiently.
if it never does roar out of you,
do something else.

if you first have to read it to your wife
or your girlfriend or your boyfriend
or your parents or to anybody at all,
you’re not ready.

don’t be like so many writers,
don’t be like so many thousands of
people who call themselves writers,
don’t be dull and boring and
pretentious, don’t be consumed with self-
love.
the libraries of the world have
yawned themselves to
sleep
over your kind.
don’t add to that.
don’t do it.
unless it comes out of
your soul like a rocket,
unless being still would
drive you to madness or
suicide or murder,
don’t do it.
unless the sun inside you is
burning your gut,
don’t do it.

when it is truly time,
and if you have been chosen,
it will do it by
itself and it will keep on doing it
until you die or it dies in you.

there is no other way.

and there never was.

“Unless it comes out of your soul like a rocket, unless being still would drive you to madness or suicide or murder…” When I was writing TRC this is exactly how I felt. However, my attempts these days to force myself into working on a new project, has left me hunched over my laptop writing things I end up rolling my eyes at.

Like this author said, “if you have to wait for it to roar out of you, then wait patiently.”

Patience.

Patience.

Patience can be most painful. I feel like I should be busy writing. But sometimes I think it’s important to be still and wait. To wait for that roar of inspiration. And to read and live/experience life while waiting. I now realize that there is absolutely nothing wrong with being patient.

Speaking of patience, I received a partial request from an agent, and after I submit the first 50 pages via snail mail, I’m going to have to wait a longggg time before I get her response. It’s the holiday soon and I doubt the agent will be reading my work while going Christmas gift shopping.