I imagine that this condition is probably not uncommon among writers, but I really do have the worst work ethic as a writer. I feel like I should treat it as a job, and I guess I'm successful in that regards, since I don't do anything and just sit on my ass. I would fire myself right now, if I could. As it is, I'm part of a labor union. The labor union is using their strong-arming techniques to prevent me from firing myself. It's a messy matter, and I'm not even sure if the terms of the current bargaining allow me to even discuss the details of it.
Here's the amazing thing I've discovered: being unemployed is even more boring than being employed. I asked my family to give me some things to do, and my father is probably going to teach me some technical skills that I could really use. He's heard me complain (bitterly) a lot lately about the fact that my generation is barely capable of working with their hands, myself included. If I were a dedicated artist, this would not be a problem, but I am simply a terrible writer. I have been working on a novel (among other projects) for over a year now, and it has only given me 17,000 words. Perfectionism is a disease that runs deep in my family.
I'm trying to practice writing, to force myself to develop better habits. With nothing interesting to talk about though, I thought I would have nothing interesting to write about in this journal. Then![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
loquacious gave me an idea. She jokingly (or maybe half-jokingly) told me that I should write about cardboard.
So, why not?
I consider this a writing challenge. I am going to attempt to write about cardboard.
Cardboard is also known as corrugated fiberboard, but that's a name that only its mother will use. Cardboard is very insistent that it be called cardboard. Its beginnings were quite modest. It once had dreams of lining tall hats....
******
While I was writing this though, I came upon a greater idea. My grandmother, many years ago, gave me an entire Encyclopedia Britannica. What I'm going to do borders on the insane, but I want to humorously abridge the entire set. This means I'll have to read the entire thing, but I'll give it a shot.
Here's the amazing thing I've discovered: being unemployed is even more boring than being employed. I asked my family to give me some things to do, and my father is probably going to teach me some technical skills that I could really use. He's heard me complain (bitterly) a lot lately about the fact that my generation is barely capable of working with their hands, myself included. If I were a dedicated artist, this would not be a problem, but I am simply a terrible writer. I have been working on a novel (among other projects) for over a year now, and it has only given me 17,000 words. Perfectionism is a disease that runs deep in my family.
I'm trying to practice writing, to force myself to develop better habits. With nothing interesting to talk about though, I thought I would have nothing interesting to write about in this journal. Then
loquacious gave me an idea. She jokingly (or maybe half-jokingly) told me that I should write about cardboard.So, why not?
I consider this a writing challenge. I am going to attempt to write about cardboard.
Cardboard is also known as corrugated fiberboard, but that's a name that only its mother will use. Cardboard is very insistent that it be called cardboard. Its beginnings were quite modest. It once had dreams of lining tall hats....
******
While I was writing this though, I came upon a greater idea. My grandmother, many years ago, gave me an entire Encyclopedia Britannica. What I'm going to do borders on the insane, but I want to humorously abridge the entire set. This means I'll have to read the entire thing, but I'll give it a shot.
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