Editorial 9.6, June 2007, by Deirdre Helfferich Writer's Block It’s a rare day that I don’t have an opinion on something. Just ask my friends, they’ll tell you. But this month, trying to write an editorial for the paper, I’ve been uninspired. (I would hate to be a daily newpaper editor, and have to come up with something sensible every single day.) It’s not really that I don’t have opinions, it’s just that none of them seem worth going into. Aha! I’ll write about writing! or not writing, actually. (Whether this will be worth the paper it’s printed on will be up to you, dear reader, to judge.) There’s all kinds of writing that I do, or have done. When I was in high school, I kept voluminous journals, wrote lots of purple prose (you know, that overly flowery and adjective-filled writing that makes the sensitive reader swoon with all the alliteration and obscure verbage in incredibly long and pointless sentences that could have been said with two words), bad poetry, and insightful essays that now make me wonder what happened to my writing skills since then. In college, and later when I moved to Seattle and traveled a bit, I regularly wrote a ton of letters to friends and relatives. That’s all changed since I started this paper. I almost never write letters any more, and most of my e-mails are business-related. My editing skills seem to be getting worse (see correction, opposite), although I think the writing that I do for The Ester Republic has been improving over time. I suspect it unlikely that historians will wish to collect my letters for publication in a book, but it’s possible that they might like my editorials. Those, at least, have had the benefit of another editor’s eye on them, usually. My journals, likewise, are anemic things in which I write a few insipid sentences like, “Didn’t do laundry again today. Tired. Cat whorfed on bed. Ick.” But I only write in them every few months, it seems, so at least posterity will be saved from having to read much of that sort of crud, if some misguided historian or relative with poor judgement makes the mistake of looking through my scattered journals. No, most of my wordcraft is saved for Republic, where I will hear promptly upon publication from my neighbors and readers if I didn’t make any sense, or spelled something incorrectly, or ranted inappropriately about an issue that is now moot. Here, it matters what I write, and when. I’ve got a deadline. So when writer’s block strikes, it gets pretty desperate here in the ol’ office, and I’ll write about something, anything, just to fill space. Hence, editorials about duck jokes, dandelions, junk mail, mud, tropical fish. Et cetera. Writer’s block mixed with panic, you see, can be a wonderful spur to the imagination. There are plenty of things I’d like to write about, but it takes time to investigate them properly, to think about the subject and compose the prose, to perfect the turn of phrase. Opinion is easy; opinion based on accurate information to make a convincing, persuasive editorial is harder. You’d think, knowing how bad I am about getting to even short pieces like journal entries or postcards, that I’d steer clear of really big projects, but no: I’m working on a History of Ester, and for the last two years, I’ve gotten involved in the annual NaNoWriMo event. “NaNoWriMo” stands for National Novel Writing Month, and it takes place in November. It’s a contest, of sorts, a challenge where the aim is for each participant to write 50,000 words of an original novel within a month. The writers sign up in preparation for the event, starting with nothing but their individual idea and a keyboard, and everybody begins work on their novel at 12:00 am November first. Each would-be novelist has a personal page on the website (www.nanowrimo.org), helping them keep track of their progress and encouraging them to achieve their goal of writing (as the website puts it) “the Great Frantic Novel.” Forums allow for guides, tip-sharing, commiseration, and mutual egging-on by the writing community. Aside from offering help and a focus for authors suffering writer’s block, the site also raises money for libraries in Asia. Last year’s NaNoWriMo had more than 79,000 participants, 13,000 of whom managed to “win” by belching out their 50,000 words by midnight November 30. The worldwide event earned $240,000 in donations last year, which went to expenses, the NaNoWriMo Young Writers Program, and seven libraries in Vietnam. The first year I participated I managed to get about 10,000 words into a science fiction novel. (I haven’t gotten any farther since then.) The second year, I signed up, but didn’t even manage to begin. One of these days, I say to myself, I’ll write a letter to [Friend’s/Relative’s/Legislator’s Name Here], and I’ll catch up on my journals, and maybe even finish that NaNoWriMo novel. But I’ve got to finish this editorial first. | ||
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