Tell Me

Of course, Mr. Wilder, I know you’re being facetious right now . . . or rather, your Wonkalicious suave and scary self is being facetious. But if you really want to know how original and creative I am, I’ll do my best to tell it to you straight.

(See, when Gene Wilder talks, I listen. As amazing as his Wonka persona was, it didn’t hold a candle to the man. Talk about original and creative…)

I used to think originality and creativity were my two strong suits, especially where writing is concerned. Of late, though, no so much. Case in point? This blog, which–barring a few sporadic posts–has been ‘on hold’ for more than a few months now. I could chalk that up to a lot of things, not the least of which is Donald J., who may be dragging us into a war with North Korea even as we speak. There have also been some issues closer to home which aren’t going away; then again, that’s life in the big city, and I’m certainly not the only one “dealing with stuff.”

There is also the tiny, lasting niggle relative to parting company with my agent, which transpired over a year ago and which–one would think–I’d have “gotten over” long before now. Apparently, not so much. Apparently, that Little Blip on the Radar Screen of Life affected me a tad more than I care to admit.

Regardless of the reason, I’m in what you might call a “funk”. And no matter how many times I’ve dragged myself out of whatever this funk is, I find myself slipping right back into it.  And every time I do, I lose a little bit more of myself.  As a writer, I mean. Which is more than a tad troublesome, considering the fact that I think of myself as a writer, and if I’m not, you know, writing. . .

Which brings me, round-aboutly, back to originality and creativity or rather, my apparent lack thereof. Sliding into a funk is hardly an original past-time, and lamenting a loss of creativity whilst doing squat to change things is not only counterproductive to the cause, but offensive . . . to any writer dealing with anything more challenging than what I’m dealing with. Believe me, there are a lot worse things a writer can be facing than the piddly-ass stuff I’m facing right now.

Speaking of offensive behavior, Miss Manners had something to say about that:

Offensive behavior is an ineffective way to make one’s own case.

Of course, some people make their cases by doing just that. 45 unfortunately comes to mind. On the lighter side, Zero Mostel. Groucho Marx. Gene Wilder? He was playing the part, “like an accident waiting to happen,” which is exactly the way he planned to play it, and which he executed brilliantly and to our utter delight, time and time again. Mr. Wilder’s creativity and originality made him who he was, and neither time, nor the unfortunate circumstances of his last years, diminished his magnificence, nor our admiration for it.

And yet, how much of that originality and creativity did he cultivate, and how much was inherent to him? I have to believe he was born that way, as we all are to some extent. Each of us has our share of the universe’s creative juices flowing through our veins. Each of us harbors at least one or two original thoughts. We all have our dreams, as well as trials and tribulations. Sometimes we find ourselves so caught up in the latter that we forget the former, stray off course, lose our way . . . which is where I am now, I think. And I’ve been here too long.

Gene Wilder once said, Time is a precious thing. Never waste it. Truth time, Mr. Wilder: that’s what I’ve been doing.






6 thoughts on “Tell Me

  1. Ah, the dreaded funk. When our house burned down and I lost everything I was working on for my second novel – manuscript, both hard copy and memory stick, and all my research material, and there was scads of it – I pretty much went dead, creatively speaking. We were left with only the clothes on our backs and the car we raced home in when we got the phone call that our house was going up in flames.
    I couldn’t create, not one single thing. I knew I had to get back on the horse but just couldn’t.

    What helped me was to do some nonfiction work. I started writing articles for an online magazine. It took a different part of my brain to do that I guess and I was able to slowly work my way back into fiction. Maybe give that a try. I feel for you. Hope you can find your way out of this.


    • Oh, Linnea, I feel for you. My sister’s home caught fire last month; it’s a total loss. Devastating to anybody, for sure, affecting all aspects of one’s life. I’m so sorry you had to go through that, and yet, I’m so thankful that you made it through that.

      Your suggestion is a good one. I’ve been kind of doing that, but not actually writing. Instead, I’ve been working outside. Doing other things like that. Trying to deal with those other Life issues that happen when one’s parent is getting older and needs more and more help and support. At least I wrote this blog post, and sent out a few queries (another rejection, just today).

      Life goes on whether we’re on the merry-go-round or not. Sometimes, we need to step back and watch the show, and hope we’ll one day be ready to grab hold and go. Your response is very appreciated, Linnea. Thank you, my dear.

      xo kk


  2. Funks are hard. And they’re made worse by the fact you often feel guilty about feeling bad, because how bad are things really? But things that might not look that momentous from the outside can affect you deeply, and it’s not wrong when they do. Be kind to yourself, take little steps. All the best with turning things around.


    • Everything you say is true. Events have slipped beyond crisis mode now into something more insidious; a gradual shift from ‘what was’ to ‘what is going to be,’ I can’t change the eventual outcome, all I can do is deal with what is.

      Baby steps.

      Thank you for your kind words, A.S.

      And thank you for visiting my little blog.

      ❤ kk


  3. One of my friends parted ways with her agent just last week. They were having some creative differences, which have lead to her being a writing funk the last several months. I was in a writing funk for about a year recently as well. She got out of hers when she realized that it was okay to do what she wanted. I got out of mine in a very similar way. I was also reading Big Magic by Elizabeth Gilbert at the time, and I guess I just started thinking that I rather be writing and failing than not writing at all. I think we put too much pressure on ourselves sometimes. We’re writers, so we must write all the time or perish. We’re writers so we must get published NOW or perish. I think giving myself permission to be in a funk in the the first place, and also permission to stop beating myself up, helped me to get moving again, too. Sometimes we just don’t want to anything. Especially when we’re disappointed or distracted or tired. Writing isn’t fun when we put too much pressure on it. And why shouldn’t it be fun, right? I think the best work comes from a place of fun anyway.


    • We writers tend to do exactly that: put pressure on ourselves to perform . . . and not only to perform, but to perform magnificently.

      You’re right when you say it’s tough to get to that place when one is disappointed, distracted, or tired.

      Your epiphanies–that it’s okay to do what you want, that you would rather write and fail than not write at all–are interesting, and I’m going to think about both of those ideas today. Thank you for sharing them, Krystal Jane.

      xo kk


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