I'm currently rewriting my book scheduled for release in May, 2009. It's called Ghostwriter. Think of my rewrite this way. I built and completed a 5,000 square-foot house. I fully furnished it. But just as I thought it was finished, it needed some major work. Walls have been torn down. Paint colors have changed. Rooms have been redesigned. Some rooms have been eliminated. It's like starting from scratch with the concrete slab and some of the frame in place--that's how this rewrite is going. I'm on a roll, however, and feeling good about the rewrite.
Here's a scene on writer's block that I'm cutting. Gutting. It wasn't that strong and didn't really add much. But I thought I'd share it on my blog.
"A Bit On Writer's Block . . ."
This, my friends and colleagues and aspiring writers of all ages, is how you battle the infamous writer’s block . . .
Step one. Caffeine. Some might use other substances and Dennis didn’t want to discourage anybody from the creative process though some of those substances didn’t make you do anything except get tired or hungry for White Castle burgers or see dots on the ceiling but right now the caffeine coursed through his veins and he felt up and alive.
Step two. A clean office. God knows his office was clean. It was too clean, in fact. He had notes by his computer and he had bits and pieces of life surrounding him so that his desk didn’t look like a desk in a model home.
Step three. Music. This was how he used to do it when he wasn’t on autopilot with another contract and another word count and another bestseller to fulfill. When he used to just do it for fun.
He selected something that would wake the dead, and he could be considered so as far as his writing output was concerned. “Black Dog” by Led Zeppelin belted out of speakers that he turned up so loud that his neighbors could surely hear. He wondered about the older odd couple next to him and if they could hear and what they would think.
This was the first track on Led Zeppelin IV, their classic album. Nothing about it was mild or medium. It was full on, taking you by the throat and plunging you ahead. And the following song, “Rock and Roll”, kept at it.
This woke him up. And as he started typing and started writing and starting telling another damned story, he could feel the blood in his veins and in his heart and in his fingertips pumping.
“Its been a long time, been a long time, been a long lonely, lonely, lonely, lonely, lonely time.”
Amen to that.
And soon, several hundred words in, he crossed the point. The point where he was into it where he was feeling it where it was going moving speeding ahead.
And the autopilot was off and he was jamming down the throttle and gripping the steering wheel and letting the car take him where it needed to go.
It felt good. Very good.
Perhaps he would use only fifty percent of this. Perhaps only ten percent. But it didn’t matter because it felt good. Words were good. Phrases and expressions and dialogue were good.
And one hour passed into a second, and he continued, forgetting the time, forgetting the day, forgetting everything.
And in the middle of shattering through the barricade that had smothered and surrounded him, Dennis didn’t hear the doorbell ring and didn’t hear the package put on his doorstep.
He would discover it much later.