Skip to main content

Too Many Words

Is it possible to write too much?  I remember asking a famous scholar once about something he had written.  He couldn’t remember it.  In his defense he said, “You know, you write so much.”

I’m not a young man, and I think I’m finally starting to see what he meant.  In addition to this blog, I write another under my actual name.  I’ve been doing for about six years.  The other day I recalled a somewhat funny thing I’d written (or so it seemed to me) but I couldn’t find it.



I tried searching the blog with every possible keyword I could imagine.  Nothing helped.  I couldn’t remember what I was writing about, or even the exact wording of the phrase.  It was a powerful image, though, and I wanted to find it.  Even in these days of “lasers in the jungle” you can’t find a phrase when you need to.

Maybe the problem is I write too much.  I write every day.  I pretty much have since I was a teenager.  My advice to younger writers is always the same: write every day.  Even if it’s only for fifteen minutes.  It is the daily practice that you need.

On a rare day off work I can write thousands of words a day.  Most days it’s only about a hundred or two.  Still, the important thing is to do it.  Like a musician, or a farmer, a writer can’t take a day off.

My ideal vacation, should I ever get to choose, would be an isolated cabin with reams of paper and buckets of pens.  I’d like to spend an isolated week with my own thoughts.  Or a month.  Or a year.

We writers live in our own heads. I need other people, of course.  Without them there’s not much to write about.  Still, I need that time to spend alone with my ideas.


Maybe, however, I indulge myself too much.  I have folders, discs, and cloud space full of words and I can’t even find the ones I wrote for a particular occasion.  All I can say is that this will be a mess to sort through when I’m gone.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Dusty

  My, this thing is dusty.   My fans—hi, Mom!—perhaps believe me to have perished in the pandemic.   No, it was nonfiction’s fault. Since the pandemic began I’ve had two nonfiction books published and have written a third.   With a nine-to-five job something’s got to give.   Unfortunately it’s been fiction. Well, the groundhog didn’t see his shadow yesterday, so it must be safe to come out.   I shuffled away the rejection notes and began submitting again.   I’ve got a backlog of weird stories and maybe some new publishers have emerged? The thing is, don’t you just hate it when you’re in the mood to submit and some lit journal has its window for submissions firmly shut?   My last story, “ The Hput, ” was published about three years ago.   Oh, I’ve submitted since then, but with no traction.   Well, it is winter. I’ve got a lot of stories lined up.   I’ve been sending them out again, dreaming of making a dime at what I love doing best...

Creative Righting

  Rejection of my writing is a rejection of my imaginative world.   That’s why I was cheered by the acceptance of one of my stories this week.   That makes number 31. I’ve been working on a lot of fiction lately, even as nonfiction book number 6 is going to press.   The ideas are still there, and bizarre as ever, but publishing venues just aren’t welcoming. The other day I had lunch with a professor whose wife is also a professor.   She just had her first novel published, and so he pointed me to her indie publisher.   I went to their website to learn that they’re closed to submissions.   I have to admit that my latest accepted story, “Creative Writing Club,” was probably given the green light because I know the editor.   That seems like a pretty dicey way to get any notice, doesn’t it?   You have to know the right people even in the low circulation world. My fiction is difficult to classify.   It’s got speculative elements to it.   ...

Creativity

  Maybe you’ve noticed this too.   When you step away from fiction writing for a while, your creativity becomes flaccid.   I’ve had to step away from this blog for a while because I was writing my sixth nonfiction book.   God, I’ve missed fiction! Now that I’ve entered that phase of waiting for publishers to respond, I’ve turned my limited writing time back to fiction.   I submitted a couple of stories this week and am waiting to hear about those as well.   When you’re a writer, waiting is a way of life. Opening my software where I store my fiction stories, I was amazed by how many I found.   Some of them are bad—so bad that they’ll never (rightfully) be published.   Some are surprisingly good and have been sitting around while I finished up my nonfic. The vast majority, however, are unfinished.   Some years back I realized that when I’m writing in the heat of inspiration but don’t have time to finish a story that I need to write down where I...