Writer's wangst

I'm extremely unhappy with myself, my brain, my muse, and anything else that might have anything to do with my own creative abilities. Which are NULL right now.

I have a lot of projects I should be working on. I've got my NaNo novel, which I now know is NEVER going to get done. At least not this November. I've got maybe 3,000 words written when I should have 20,000 written. I just can't take writing the damn thing when it reminds me too fucking much of Tammy and the whole drama relationship kids-marriage-Wicca issue. Maybe I can use it for next year.

I've got "From the Gods", which is going to be good if I ever write it. The problem is that I am supposed to be writing it from the point of view of a middle-aged man who thinks that teenagers are aliens, and I don't know what kinds of things teenagers do that are so different from adults that aren't obvious HAR HAR OH LOOK AT THAT SILLY DYED HAIR kind of things. Someone at Fiction Collective suggested watching "Invasion of the Body Snatchers" for inspiration--I've seen the movie, read the book, and I can't tell what was so weird about the pod people other than the hysterical female lead thinking that her uncle was not her uncle.
Maybe it's a larger, more subtle generation gap issue than I thought. The way kids react to things, the way they think--"River's Edge" might work for an example. Adults are worried and disturbed by violence and death in real life, and kids don't seem to care. Adults work hard and get ahead, kids want to play video games and smoke pot. I don't want to make it preachy, though. Last thing I want. I need to do more research on this, but there are so few good books about the generation gap in the campus library. Maybe I can interview people. Don't know what to ask, though.
And what's the main character going to think about the aliens? Do the kids know they're aliens? Do they want to take over the world, or have they already, just by existing? Are they changelings, normal kids replaced one night with alien pod tentacle things? Were they aliens to begin with? Are they even really tentacle things, or just...not-human?

Aaaaaaand the Marty/Marty fic. I have no ideas. None. I have very vaguely sketched-out "hey, this might work" ideas for scenes but I have no actual lines, events, or plot for any of them, and I really hate that. I have a feeling it's never going to get done if I do it, and that depresses me because I want to see it done. Maybe I should let someone else use it--Cloud Leonheart (Fallen Hawk on FFN, don't know her real name) gave the pairing to me originally, I thought of a justification and a plot, and Nightspore made it better. Could throw it around until it sticks with someone.
Why is it that the most detailed scenarios I have are crap ideas? I go for a walk, intending to think seriously on plot. Then my mind drifts and before you know it I'm busily making up the life history of a Mary Sue or figuring out how to justify a "Re-Animator"/"Illuminatus trilogy" crossover (not kidding, but not going to write it either). Then I'll remember that I'm supposed to be thinking about something that will actually be good and get totally stuck. Aren't good ideas supposed to flow naturally?

(no subject)

I had a dream last night where I was the sole audience for a piece of art. I was an a city I've never been in before that somehow looked familiar, following around a cart that kept changing shape every time I saw it but always looked the same. Eventually, we ended up in a courtyard, an ancient courtyard with stone pillars and the moon overheard. I stood there with my hands full of rose petals. There was a little card explaining the art, but I didn't have to read it because I already knew what it was. I don't remember what it was, but it was so profound that I started crying.

I'm crying now, as I write this. I just hope Ashley doesn't burst in, because she would want to know why and that would ruin it.

I had a dream where I was driving up a country road, through the trees, so green and ancient. As I drove farther, I felt calmer and more exalted. I reached a clearing, a little circle with green sunshine filtering down, and I left my car and I stood in the middle of the circle and I felt totally at peace.

I want to go back there. My mind is so clogged up with petty shit that I can't think about anything original or deep. I don't think I can feel anything deep anymore.
I'm listening to a Nick Drake song that I just downloaded. It starts out with a violin solo and Nick singing, "Please...Give me second grace." It's very beautiful and when I heard it I teared up and I wasn't sure why; it sounded so familiar. Then it hit me: Dad used to play this for me. That and "Reeling In The Years", which also makes me cry. I'd put that on now but I don't think I could stand to hear it. I'd break down and curl up in a little ball and sob harder than I am now.

I'm basically a hack. I can't even finish a shitty plot-based novel with cliched characters because that is too fucking deep for me, and as for something a little deeper with subtle emotional themes...fucking forget it. I'm never going to write anything really good. Like...er...Paul Auster. "City of Glass." Why can't I write something like that, delicate, poetic, subtle? Instead I have buffoonish, snippy characters and crap plots.

I need to clear my mind out.

( Livejournal love. Dammit. )

I want to go to California. I liked California. I liked driving around and getting lost in Los Angeles in the dark. I liked Hollywood. I liked the freeways and the suburbs in the mountains with the big, old houses. I liked driving from L.A. to San Diego in the dark and singing to the radio with Dad driving. I liked the scrubland scenery around San Francisco and the colorful apartments and the stores and all the historical plaques and Chinatown. I liked the beach in San Diego and the hole-in-the-wall shops and the palm trees and being able to see the ocean from the highway.
I'm making a playlist of songs that remind me of California. In goes "Going to California" by Led Zeppelin, which is San Francisco and Uncle Pat and Yosemite National Park. In goes "Hotel California," by the Eagles, which is San Diego last year and the book I got there about California vampires (which I gave to Gail). "L.A. Woman" by the Doors--didn't know I had that. Ah, roommmate Sasha loves Jim Morrison--must have gotten it on her recommendation. In goes "Wild Side" by Motley Crue, which is scarier than "Welcome to the Jungle." But "Welcome to the Jungle" reminds me of Detroit instead. In goes "Californication", which, despite being by the Red Hot Chili Peppers, I like. It is San Diego in the years before, when we went to Hollywood and got lost. And in goes "Walk Between the Raindrops" by Steely Dan. It's really more Florida than California, frankly, but at this point I feel I need all the sunshine and oranges that I can get.
It gets too dark too early here. I could stand the cold if it wasn't for the dark.