Block Party

[firstacts]

What do you write when you don't know what to write? Writing. !thumbsup!

Block Party
Glenn A. Hascall

Oh, if only writing were like a fountain. It would overflow and confound me as I try to determine how best to keep pace with the excess.

But writing isn’t like that. Some days it’s a gush and I scramble to keep up - other days I stare a cursor that mocks my very existence. Visions of the Sahara or the Gobi consume me - will there never come an end to the parchness of my Muse.

I type a few words and erase them just as quickly. This is ridiculous, surely it can’t be this hard - but the incessant blinking tells me it can indeed be challenging.

I keep files of half finished material and threads of ideas that somehow got lost in the weaving. There are times that these bits and pieces of threads make something useful - other times they useless bytes of information that will only prove useful once I delete them from my hard drive.

So since my mind can conjure no new worlds to explore and it can’t recall a memorable moment in time to record, I will pay homage to the art of writing that is as fickle as a school girl - ‘today she likes me - tomorrow she will ignore me’.

In the end I will pursue this mysterious passion with the same zeal a drowning man has for air. I will continue to use my words to paint a picture, sometimes beautiful, sometimes disturbing, occasionally memorable, always a sold out expression of who I am.

And when someone happens my way to read these words, they will be forced to make critical decisions. Will they read the words in their entirety? Will they care enough about the words to respond? Will they laugh? Will they cry? Will my words help change a life?

Words.

They can’t hurt - can they?

They do every day. The words I write, the words I read, and the words that are spoken. They are a powerful expression of the inner person.

“I could never write like you can,” other non-writers say. Is it possible that my voice, your voice, our voices can become a way for others to feel as though someone peeked into their very soul and spoke the inner longing, hurt and joy that they couldn’t figure out how to describe?

We sit in the silence and grab a handful of words and toss them together like salad. We remove some and add others. We crumple paper and revise. We self-edit and we condemn ourselves for using clichés. After all this work we may be inclined to share our work with others. We ship it off to a publisher and wait for the well crafted but sterile reply, “I’m sorry…”

Why bother?

Ah, good question - but there’s one better.

“Can we stop?”

Hmmmmmm.

Therapeutic? Personally fulfilling?

A needed part of our very existence!

Write on!

[mendedheart]

What do you write when you don't know what to write? Writing. !thumbsup!

Block Party
Glenn A. Hascall

Oh, if only writing were like a fountain. It would overflow and confound me as I try to determine how best to keep pace with the excess.

But writing isn’t like that. Some days it’s a gush and I scramble to keep up - other days I stare a cursor that mocks my very existence. Visions of the Sahara or the Gobi consume me - will there never come an end to the parchness of my Muse.

I type a few words and erase them just as quickly. This is ridiculous, surely it can’t be this hard - but the incessant blinking tells me it can indeed be challenging.

I keep files of half finished material and threads of ideas that somehow got lost in the weaving. There are times that these bits and pieces of threads make something useful - other times they useless bytes of information that will only prove useful once I delete them from my hard drive.

So since my mind can conjure no new worlds to explore and it can’t recall a memorable moment in time to record, I will pay homage to the art of writing that is as fickle as a school girl - ‘today she likes me - tomorrow she will ignore me’.

In the end I will pursue this mysterious passion with the same zeal a drowning man has for air. I will continue to use my words to paint a picture, sometimes beautiful, sometimes disturbing, occasionally memorable, always a sold out expression of who I am.

And when someone happens my way to read these words, they will be forced to make critical decisions. Will they read the words in their entirety? Will they care enough about the words to respond? Will they laugh? Will they cry? Will my words help change a life?

Words.

They can’t hurt - can they?

They do every day. The words I write, the words I read, and the words that are spoken. They are a powerful expression of the inner person.

“I could never write like you can,” other non-writers say. Is it possible that my voice, your voice, our voices can become a way for others to feel as though someone peeked into their very soul and spoke the inner longing, hurt and joy that they couldn’t figure out how to describe?

We sit in the silence and grab a handful of words and toss them together like salad. We remove some and add others. We crumple paper and revise. We self-edit and we condemn ourselves for using clichés. After all this work we may be inclined to share our work with others. We ship it off to a publisher and wait for the well crafted but sterile reply, “I’m sorry…”

Why bother?

Ah, good question - but there’s one better.

“Can we stop?”

Hmmmmmm.

Therapeutic? Personally fulfilling?

A needed part of our very existence!

Write on!

:confused: :confused: :confused: :confused: :confused: :confused: :confused:

I wrote a whole big block of words, hit the wrong button and it disappeared into thin air.

Twice this happened. One question and I'll rewrite later. I have to do some other stuff. I used up too much of this "block" head. How do I reply without using a whole "block "of quotes before I can put my two cents worth it.

When I have a block I just stop and wait until the Holy Spirit stirs up the fire. I'll end with that.

I don't suppose that helps any one. just me, Joan

[DrRita]

Glenn, Boy do I relate!!

Well, here's one for you. Write 300 words on the word "string." Here's my take (286 words):

String, somewhere between thread and rope, is too thick for sewing but can’t tow a boat. It flies a kite and holds a roast together. Tied around my finger it helps me remember. It has a thousand uses, costs less than tape. I can buy a whole spool for just one-ninety eight. My cat likes to play with it and the birds build a nest, from bits they find on their nest building quest. String beans taste good but don’t produce string; I’m not sure why they are called such a thing. If you are stringy, that means you are thin. Better to be stringy than dingy or grim. I can tie up a bean plant or measure a room or weave a mat on my small hand loom. There are strings of pearls and strings of beads, strings of Christmas lights wound around fir trees. Computers use strings though not the same kind and so do pianos and Venetian blinds. I can sit and do string art for hours, making pictures and figures and even some flowers. String can also mean what I do, some of it nice and some not so cool. Leaving a string of accidents behind, means I’m reckless, mad or unkind. I can string you up or string you down just as long as I don’t string you along. I can string my guitar with threads of steel and to break one of those is no big deal. But the strings of the heart are delicate indeed, easily broken by love’s misdeeds.
Only God can restring it again, with healing threads strung by Him. His great love cannot be matched. He gives it so freely, no strings attached!

[Merry]

Man, when I grow up I want to write like some of you guys. A precise presentation of perpsterous problems plaguing people who preform by pen. Pleasant, perfect, preternaturally...phine. :D Nice work Glenn....


Doc Rita, You realize you just wrote almost 300 words, about string. Let's think about this a minute...string? You REALLY wrote about string? And it was not bad....that's the interesting part. Wow, I think I'm going to go sit in the Bat Cave awhile pondering what this all means and maybe come up with an ode to pencil erasers. Very good. :D

[DrRita]

Thanks Merry

Hey! It's a challenge. Pick something plain, mundane, common and write as close to 300 words as possible. It's fun, it's . . . I think my creativity just pizzled. Oh well. Try it anyway.

Some ideas: blue, post-its, spoons, book marks, socks (that's one for Mamma Joyce) and last but not least, da-da--ready-- mops. Yep, I said mops. :eek:

Any takers? Huh? Huh? :cool:

[writefx]

After years of writers block where I was too scared to 'dare' to write in case it was not the most perfect story straight off, I finally realised that this time has not been a waste at all.

This is because I've used up stacks of notepads doing journal excercises, finding out all about myself, the good and the bad, my opinions on different subject, my values, hopes, fears, ambitions. I found my writer's voice and for that I am truly thankful.

[TemlynWriting]

Wow - I'm truly inspired. I think I'll try a bit of this! Thanks for the challenge! :)

[valentine]

:) I've gotten so upset with the blinking cursor that I hit one key and filled the page!! Sometimes the ideas are so prolific I can't type fast enough and sometimes all I can do is come up with random streams of consciousness that make no sense. I try to research for places looking for stories during those famine days.

[whitehawke]

LOL....You guys here are such an encouragement, you make me feel like I just want to write.

I've had days when I can't sit still, there's so much to write and pages to fill. So many words all caught up inside, pictures of scenes not willing hide. I cant get it out, there's too much to say, not enough hours in the average day. Like a flood in a bottle, it's all corked away, screaming to see the light of day. I need to relax, there's no need to fight, if only the words would come out all right. !thumbsup!

[dublinheart]

My first writing assignment in college was to write an essay (1000 words) on a Christmas magazine ad for Hersey Kisses. The ad showed 3 Kisses; two in normal colored wrap and one in green Christmas wrap. That's it! No words, just the Kisses.
Well, the writing juices beagn to flow, and I did it in no time and got an 'A' on the paper, plus a very encouraging note from the professor who turned out to be one of my most rewarding teachers. That's not to say I am a great writer, but if you let your mind go where it wants the words will eventually come.
Now, I'm a Christian and the Holy Spirit takes my mind and my soul where He wants to and the words come so fast I can't get them typed fast enough. It's not that I'm a great writer. I know my limitations, and so does the Spirit. He takes over when I'm at my limit, and it goes on and on and on! All He asks is an open vessel that He can fill with what He wants to say.
The blocks still come, but they CAN'T last, because He won't let them.
Hope that helps! !thumbsup!