Writer’s Funk

I’m suffering from writer’s funk.  Not writer’s block, but writer’s funk.  Writer’s Block is when you can’t come up with ideas to write.  I have plenty of ideas.  No, this is most definitely a writer’s funk.  That’s when you have a ton of ideas, but you don’t think any are worth writing.

I’m suffering from the “Every word has already been written, every song has already been sung, every story has already been told” FUNK.  I love blogs.  I read blogs.  But reading blogs, while very validating to help you realize you are not alone, also makes you realize that you are not unique or original.  You are just like everybody else.

One of my girlfriend’s moms asked me last week, “Hey, what’s going on with your blog?  Why aren’t you writing as much?”

I told her that I’m writing more for pay now, so I don’t have as much time to blog what I want, but that was only partially true.  While I love that I’m fortunate enough to write for pay (Thank you to the people who pay me to write!!), I’ve been selling out by using that as my excuse.  The greatest thing in the world about owning and writing your own blog is that you can write whatever you want, no matter who wants to read it.  It’s a great freedom for a writer.  But, with great power, comes great responsibility (I’ve come so far down that I’m quoting Spider Man).  So I try not to write anything just for the sake of writing, but only when I have something to really say.  Either that or to make people laugh or cry.  I do enjoy writing both of those categories.

But lately, I’ve been trudging through the end of the school year tossing one idea after another aside as not good enough. The funny thing my kids said over the dinner table?  Good, but not good enough. My absolute love and appreciation for my son’s soccer coaches?  Great (and I did write to them via email), but not universal enough.  My frustration over the ridiculous overkill of end-of-school-year activities?  Well, nothing can top this awesome post on that this year.

My son wrote this while I was on the phone about a PTA event.
Yes, kiddo, you’re right. We do.

So I copped-out and haven’t been writing.  But now I’m noticing that this isn’t just a writing funk.  This funk is permeating into my social life as well.  My frustration with PTA activity overkill is making me not go to even the fun moms-only events like the Kindergarten mixer.  Partially because it’s for my third soon-to-be-Kindergartener and I have had all of these conversations before.  Partially because I am just so tired of this month that I don’t want to go to one more event that I don’t absolutely have to attend.  And partially because I just don’t have anything new or different to say.

I’m brought back to the reason I left teaching.  I used to be a 7th-grade writing specialist.  Our school divided reading and writing into two different subjects.  That meant I didn’t teach any literature or vocabulary.  I only taught writing.  I graded 120 papers per week and, as much as I loved my students, I just couldn’t read one more essay on sports, or the latest movie, or why this boy band was so much better than that boy band.  Even the best writing got old because it had been done before.  So as soon as I realized I was burned out as a teacher, I resigned and went to work in an office.

To my former students, if any of you read this blog, I offer you two things.  I’m sorry.  Please understand that I absolutely loved teaching each and every one of you.  I only left teaching when I realized that I wouldn’t have that same fire for incoming students.  And two, do you remember my biggest rant as a teacher?  What did I always say when reading your work?

“Never mention the paper in the paper!!”

My reasoning was sound.  Your writers will know that you are a writer from the mere act of them reading your words on a page.  Do not dumb it down by saying, “This paper will be about…”  Just start writing and MAKE your paper be about…

Well guess what?  I’m a writer who just wrote an entire blog post with multiple mentions of the paper in my paper.  I apologize.  You have my permission to take out your red pens.