Uninspired Musings

Have I mentioned that I'm in Ireland? Oh. I have?

Well, I'm in Ireland.

And, it's really tough right now. Besides incredible loneliness (somewhat self-imposed), it's very moody, due to the incessant rain. Which, normally, is a great time for me to write. Curled up, in my office (at home), rain pelting at the windows, sinister forces at work... Hell, even when it's sunny, I've designed my office to be somewhat moody, slightly art-deco, very mystery-inducing.

But, here in Ireland (have I mentioned that I'm here?), it's just not doing it for me. I don't know what the problem is. I was in LA for a few weeks a few weeks ago, and wrote an entire script. In one day, I wrote 30 pages. Okay, they weren't great pages, but 30 pages!

There's something about being in LA. I think it's the slight stench of desperation wafting off all the people. Including the tourists. Last year I drove past a woman outside Tiffany on Rodeo, and she was waiting to cross the street. I'm not positive she was a tourist, but something made me think she was, so for the purposes of this story, she was a tourist. Okay? Anyway, she was just standing there, waiting. I noticed her because she was posing. Standing at the light and posing. Upon closer look, I believe she was also sucking in her cheeks. She was totally hoping to be discovered. But, she was putting it right out there. And, I gave her a mental "you go girl!" Because, really, who wouldn't love to recount how they got discovered on the corner of Rodeo and Wilshire?

Now, I'm keeping up with all the US TV. Albeit a few days later. It's like I'm in Canada. But, I'm in Ireland (remember?). And, normally, at home, any show I watch gets the wheels a-whirling. There's not a single show I watch, AT HOME, that I don't come up with an idea for. It's a curse and a blessing. It's also why I watch a lot of reality shows (but not ANTM, people, NOT ANTM. I do have principles).

All those shows? I watched them while I was home, and seriously, I was just inspired. Ideas a-flowing. I come back to Ireland (yes, that Ireland), I watch the same exact shows, and I'm dry. No ideas. No inspiration. It's watching TV purely to avoid thinking I'm here instead of there.

I get that I'm complaining. I get that a lot of people would kill to live here. And, that's great for them.

A lot of people tell me, go out, explore, you'll love it! I have. And, you know what? I was lonely. The Guinness tour is just not as fun when you're on your own. How else can one mock the rehab center next door? (Not that I'm mocking recovering alcoholics, it just seems kind of ironic that the major rehab center... see, you had to be there).

So, the year's drawing to an end. Writing-wise, this is what I've achieved:

A pilot outline.
A different pilot outline.
A spec outline.
A rough draft of said spec.
3 page one rewrites on another spec -- one I won't even show my mother.
Another spec outline.
A short story.
A rewrite of another short story.

With the exception of the rough draft of a spec and another spec outline, everything else was completed by July, all in LA. The rough draft and outline of another spec outline were completed in the few weeks I was back in LA. In between doctor's visits (we'll get to that) and seeing what friends I could, and visiting with family. I come back here? Armed with a ready-to-write outline. Hell, I've got the two pilot outlines that I could work on. Seriously, all they need is for me to write them. And, yet. I can't.

So, to psychoanalyze myself, here's why I think I can't (or won't, because it's probably all in my head) write here:

This place has awful memories for me. And, I can't seem to get it together. Right before we moved here, I had to have a biopsy in my hoo-hoo, because I'd had an abnormal thingy. So, you know, in between packing, trying to say good-bye to everyone, I'm dealing with the fact that a doctor cut bits of my hoo-hoo out so that they could test for the big C.

So, we move here, do some time in Guernsey, then come back here. However, whilst in Guernsey, having dinner with my husband's co-worker, just he and me. Drinking, hanging, etc, I get phone call. From doctor. I have cancer. In my hoo-hoo. Yes, this is awesome, because I wasn't looking forward to coming overseas, but, you know this makes it all worth it! And, you know, for the next hour, I have to pretend like everything's all right, before I can get back to the hotel and cry (yeah, like a baby).

So, I return to LA (my dad pulled some strings and got me in to see some fancy hoo-hoo/cancer doctor). They did another biopsy (goodness, those are fun!!!). And, you know what? I don't have cancer. In my hoo-hoo, or anywhere else. So, everything's great, right?

The day after we find out that everything's awesome? We also find out that online poker is now illegal. And, uh, my hubby's company deals in that. Well, IS that. And, his company? Not going public. So, you know, the whole reason we originally came out here (the prospect of becoming millionaires)? All gone.

So, we're ready to pack it in. And, we probably will. Cuz, really, Hiro came and switched our pocket aces for 7-2 offsuit.

So, we're stressing. I'm stressing. And, all I want to be doing is writing. Something other than a blog entry. I want, by the end of the year, to complete at least another rough draft. Then, I can spend the early part of 2007 cleaning them up/rewriting them and have two new specs for staffing season.

And, I just can't do it. I can't write to save my life. Oh, I open up final draft. I spell-check my outlines. I change a word here or there. I basically just piddle away. I create playlists for the episode. I re-watch eps of the show I'm speccing. Or... I plan tonight's menu. And, tomorrow's. The bathroom's sparkling. The kitchen gleams.

I'm making my Christmas shopping list. I remembered I forgot to bring all my Christmas cards, so I need to get new ones, and send them from here. We're booking travel for Christmas. We're...

Fuck. Why can't I get it together and write something?

And, why did life/fate/the universe/whoever send us here? What's the lesson to be learned here? Is there one? Fuck. It feels like such a fucking waste.

So, uh, any helpful hints on how to get yourself motivated when you're under a self-imposed mental block?