I decided to quit writing yesterday.
As the precious little time I have for writing drew to a close yesterday, all I had to show for it were three sentences. I must have written better than a thousand words over the course of the day, but I kept deleting them because they were crap.
As the realization that I has sweated blood all day only to make no real progress sank in, I thought, "This is ridiculous. I'm going to quit."
I held onto that thought for a while; it gave me a bit of comfort, but only for a while.
My wife and I had dinner and then took a stroll to the park where we sat, she with her book and me with my cigar, enjoying the day. As I contemplated my recalcitrant novel, I realized the reason I was making no progress was that the scene was all wrong. I needed to go back and bring it forward in a new direction. After that, everything fell into place and I began stinging an article together in my mind about how I had planned to quit writing.
Writing about not writing; that's got to be a sure sign that you are an incurable writer.
On other fronts, I'm planning to take a course in article writing and marketing. It all keeps going around in one, big circle:
I started out writing articles, but couldn't sell any because I'm crap at marketing; I wasn't getting rejection letters, I wasn't even able to find markets to send anything to so I could get rejection letters. So I decided to write a book, based on the idea that at least I would have places to send it. Now that I am shopping my humor book around, I am finding I don't have any credentials. I'm not convinced that is the kiss of death, but I can't believe it would hurt. Nor would learning some marketing skills.
So I'm checking out an on-line article 'how-to' course to make sure it is legit and all that. If I don't grow cold on this idea, I'll be starting school with the kids this autumn. I wonder if I'll need a school uniform.