Nothing To Write About?

What do you write about when you’ve nothing to write about?

For writers who write merely for enjoyment that question doesn’t pose too much of a problem; hobbyists can afford to sit around and wait for inspiration to strike.  But for writers who write to earn a living, or who depend on their writing to form a large proportion of their income, it can be something of a dilemma. Sitting around, sipping tea or watching television, while waiting for a lightning bolt of inspiration to smack you right between the eyes won’t pay the bills.

Professional writers must write every day, no matter how inspired they feel. I’ve read numerous books about the craft of writing, and in every one I’ve read there’s one piece of advice that always gets a mention – write every day.

As regular readers of this blog will know, I’ve recently found it increasingly difficult to spend prolonged periods of time at my keyboard.  As a result, my publication success has been virtually zero for months.

I got into a habit of not writing, and like all bad habits it’s been an extremely difficult one to quit. It’s very easy to get accustomed to sitting around reading, listening to your favourite CD’s and watching television.

Admittedly, I do have an excuse; I am in constant pain and even a short stint at my keyboard can leave my hands agonisingly sore. Bearing that in mind, I have come to look at my writing as a hobby. But even hobbyist writers need to write.

Earlier this year, I promised myself that I would make a real effort to get back into a routine of writing regularly. Life, as usual, threw a few spanners in the works and I had to delay my plans for a few weeks.

During that time, however, I was thinking about what to write and how to best get back into the routine of writing. I bought a new notebook and began making notes about anything and everything. Then, when I sat down to write I had a few ideas to get me started.

My main objective was to enjoy the process of writing; first draft, second draft, third draft etc. I also set myself a target number of words to write each day. Some days I achieve my target, some days I don’t and some days I even write more than I set out to.  But the most important thing is that I have something to aim for; something to focus on.

The quality of my writing was also not that important to me either. Once I have printed a piece of writing I can put it away, then come back to it and improve it, I told myself.

So far, in seventeen days, I have written 7913 words. That’s an average of just over 465 words per day, and that does not include the stuff I jot down in my notebook, or my writing diary or this blog post.

What that number does include is, the plot for a novel, several potted characterisations for the novel, two short stories (one of which I hope to enter into a competition), and two articles, not to mention a couple of readers letters and two posts for this blog. Much of what I’ve written will need some comprehensive revision but that’s not the point. The aim of the exercise was to get words on paper.  

I’m quite surprised how much I can achieve working this way, and up to now I’m thoroughly enjoying it. And as an added bonus, one of the articles mentioned above has been accepted for publication by a well known magazine.

Sitting down to write can be daunting for anyone. But having a plan definitely makes it easier. I don’t think it matters what you write, just getting words on paper is what counts, because you can always come back and improve the piece later.

So what do you write about when you’ve nothing to write about?

Answer – anything.

This post began life as I sat down at my keyboard and thought, what will I write about today.    

   

Time Is Precious - Don't Waste It

Blogging is fun, or at least it’s meant to be, isn’t it? And I have to admit that I do enjoy writing words for, and posting them on, this site. I also enjoy visiting other blogs, to see what the many friends I’ve made in the blogosphere are writing about, and how their daily lives are panning out.

However, one thing I do hate about blogging is the amount of time it all takes. Not that the writing or posting takes that long, but trying to drive readers to any blog seems to take an age. Visiting forums, dropping cards and listing a blog on a blog promotion site eats up valuable time.

Time, for me at least, that could be better spent elsewhere. As a writer, I should be writing. Instead, I usually find myself looking at my watch, saying to myself, ‘Where did the time go?’ It’s an easy question to answer – I spent it blogging.

There are only so many hours in any single day, and for someone like me, who can only spend a limited amount of time at a computer every day, wouldn’t it be better to spend that time more productively? Doing some writing, for instance? Well, the answer has to be yes.

So from now on that’s what I’ll be doing. Spending less time here, while using the precious time saved to get words on paper. I’ll still be visiting other blogs and stuff like that, but I’ll not be around as much as I used to. I am working to a schedule and I plan to stick to it.

Note to friends.

Please do not be offended by the words above, they are intended for use, by me, as a motivational tool. I will still be visiting your blogs and commenting as usual. 

Blurring By

I ventured into town this morning to pick the latest copy of my favourite writing magazine. Since  developing my illness I don’t get out as often as I used to, but on the occasions when I do I try to make the most of every moment. I packed my camera and my notebook, and after collecting my magazine I went to a local coffee shop situated in what I suppose you’d call the arty side of town.

I ordered an Americano, and as it was a dry, bright day I took a seat outside. While I was waiting for the waitress to bring my drink, I began to indulge in one of my favourite pastimes – people watching.

It always amazes me how many different types of people you see wandering or pushing their way through a bustling city centre. Businessmen, workmen, students, office workers, tourists, shop assistants, many of whom still appeared to be suffering after an over indulgent weekend, all made their way past where I was sitting. Just a typical Monday morning, I thought.

But as my senses awakened and I began to focus more intently on the people around me, I noticed that most of these people all had one thing in common – they all seemed overly conscious of their appearance. Most of them were immaculately dressed in the latest designer clothes and none of them had a single hair out of place. I even noticed one young man, around 24 – 25 years of age, dressed in overalls and heavy boots, stop to gaze at his reflection in a shop window. He wet the tips of his fingers with his tongue, then stroked the side of head lovingly before continuing his journey.

There’s nothing wrong with wanting to look your best, but it seems to me that all these people were taking the whole looking-good thing a bit too far. Whatever happened to work clothes, remember them - clothes we used to keep exclusively for work and which were probably a couple of years out of fashion. When I was working on a factory floor I couldn’t have cared less what I was wearing, and I wouldn’t have had the time to worry about how my hair looked.   

It’s a sign of the times, I suppose. We live in a celebrity obsessed society where looking-good is all important. Everyone wants to look like a film star and everyone wants to look better than the man, or woman, next door. Are we afraid that if we don’t have all the latest fashion trends hanging in our wardrobes that we’ll be treated like outcasts? Or do we rely on our clothes and our hair styles so much, that without them we fear we won’t be recognized for our individuality? If the latter is the case, I’m afraid I have a shock in store. All the people I saw today, all looked the same. In fact, every one of them might as well have been standing on display in Debenhams window.

As for me, well, I think I’ll stick with what I know best – jeans, jumper and comfortable shoes.  

The waitress, dressed in True Religion denims and a Hilfiger top, eventually delivered my coffee. It’s what’s inside that counts, I told myself. Then, noticing my reflection in the coffee shop window, I thought, ‘hmm, better get a haircut.     

New Arrival

A few days ago I wrote about the death of my cat. He'd been with me for fifteen years and we'd shared many happy and sad times together. I'd grew very attached to him, and his passing was an extremely heartbreaking time for me. 

I've had a cat share my home for as long as I can remember, I got my first feline friend when I was just five years-of-age, and I think the atmosphere in the house just isn't the same without a little furry bundle. I scoured all the local newspapers in search of a kitten or young cat in need of a home, but I couldn't bring myself to make a single phone call. I felt as if it would be a betrayal to my last furry friend to bring a new cat into the house.

However,  my wife suggested that we visit an animal re-homing centre situated just a few miles up the road; I think she'd had enough of my moping about the house. I agreed, but I had made up my mind that we would not be returning home with a cat. 

How wrong was I. My heart just melted when I saw a little jet-black cat called Dash. He was extremely friendly and he was an immediate hit with my daughter. It only took me a few minutes to decide.

"We'll take him!" I blurted out. 

We've re-named him Angus, after AC/DC's legendary guitarist, and although he's only been with us for a few days, he's already made himself at home. He's roughly two years of age and before being rescued by the re-homing centre, he was one of nearly forty cats living with an elderly gent who just couldn't cope with that number of felines. 

I think he is very handsome.