5 ways to motivate writing through procrastinating.

It’s no doubt that there are a lot of people in this world that enjoy the practise of writing. Journals, creative or even reality – writing comes in many ways and it’s always fun to explore the different ways to go about exploring your passion of writing. I’ve loved writing ever since I was little. I dreamed of being an author, then I wanted to be a journalist, and now, all I want to do is just write. But, it goes without saying that even the best writers get writers block. It’s horrible and it easily chips away at the pleasure of writing. I’m in my third year of a creative writing degree, and I’ve felt the pressures of writers block too many times. And, well, procrastination has actually been my best friend in those difficult times. These are five ways of procrastination in the most wonderful way that has helped me on my writing endeavors:

 

  • 1. Watch a film, documentary, tv series

Like I said, procrastination. But some of my favourite ideas have come from watching something. It’s best to find something related to your writing – if you’re writing about crime, then watch a crime documentary. If you’re writing fantasy, watch something sci-fi and fantasy related. Side note: it’s always easier when watching something new. That way, there’s something that will grip your attention, whether it be a character, the scenery or even a new language. Besides, it’s always fun watching a new film and expands your horizons in both ways.

  • 2. Listen to an entirely new band, artist or album.

Just like the last one, it’s always easier listening to a new band, artist or album rather than your favourites. Only because, we both know, that when your favourite comes on you’ll be screaming each word at the top of your lungs. With something you’ve never listened to before (whether it be a new album or an entirely new genre) then you’re listening to new sounds, new words and getting an entirely new emotional experience. Music can also help explore the mood of your writing. If your soundtrack is happy, then your words are going to be more upbeat and the reader will feel it. This does also depend on your mindset at the time too.

  • 3. Read other blogs.

This is for more than just creative writing. I know just how hard it can be to come up with new content for your readers. (Hello, by the way!) When you are forcing yourself to write, then it stops flowing and it’s easy to tell when someone is bored. AND it’s easy for it to happen, even to creative writers. Unfortunately for those wanting to make something of themselves in the writing world, the majority of media and journalists cover what people want to read. For those without up-to-date and unknown press releases that’s going to get us out there in the big wide world, we have to depend on making our own interesting content. Other blogs can be very helpful of this, especially those that are starting to break out into the bigger world. It’s an easy way to find out what people are reading and what people are writing and even a way to inspire yourself. For most around my age, it’s make-up and fashion, and I’m terrible at both. But by reaching out to other blogs and exploring further into the blogiverse, there’s still hope for me. People. Freakin’. Love. Lists. Hence this post!

prompts

  • 4. Reddit writing prompts

Reddit is an interesting place, and recently my favourite place when I’m all out of ideas. Sometimes, it’s a lack of creativity rather than writers block. Especially in university when there’s a thousand other assignments to be done, my mind finds it increasingly difficult to keep coming up with fresh, new ideas. That’s where I’ve been using Reddit. It’s helped spark some minor ideas, but it’s also sparked my major ones. There’s some silly and fun prompts, but then there’s also the ones that will get you writing for days on end if you can actually get behind it.Not to mention, there’s a thousand other pieces, written by real people to read too, and that sparks creativity enough. Click here to be taken to the page and see what you can find!

  • 5. Take time away from writing.

If my tutor read this, he’d be reeling in his seat. But it’s true. This is my final year in university, and I’m doing a creative course that I should be writing for 90% of the time. But I don’t and I don’t plan to. Why? Because if I forced myself to write a section every day then it would be forced. The last emotion I want to feel when writing something I should be passionate about. Like I said, my final year means this should round up my best writing pieces, and if I hand in something that has boring sections, then whoever ends up grading it will be like “well, shit, she doesn’t really want to be writing this, does she?” I’ve spent most of this year away from my laptop, and that’s no word of a lie. Hell, the most I’ve spent on a computer is the time I’ve been bored out of my mind on a four hour uni break, and all I’ve done is watch YouTube videos. Not writing 100% of the time doesn’t make you a bad writer, keep that in mind. Your own exploration can be your biggest inspiration.

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Words don’t help my head

Writing. Putting words next to each other, hoping it makes sense to those who read it. Stick some punctuation in there and watch it all come together. Why doesn’t my head feel like it is together? I can write endless amounts of words and I can write none. Nothing I ever do will help me gather up these thoughts.

I’ve changed. Things are better. Life is better. Life is bad. Nothing changes. These thoughts that I once trailed away from and left on a dirt road have hitch-hiked it’s way back into my head. It hurts. I ache. No matter how much sense of it I want to make, I can’t. My head pounds endlessly, my arms and hands ache. I exist and sometimes I exist happily but there’s moments when I don’t want to. I left behind anti-depressants and started a journey towards happiness, I’ve reached that happiness in many ways, but here I am. Just existing. Things go wrong, people throw what I’ve tried so hard to leave behind back in my face and I’m back at step one. It triggers a lot of emotions I don’t want to feel. It triggers a numbness. It triggers a lack of care. It hurts.

Sometimes I think that it would be better if I wasn’t around. Sometimes I think that selfishly, I want to be around to feel the happiness that people give me. My boyfriend. Sweet and lovely and unselfish. Inspiration to be a better person. My friends; lively and happy and no looming thunder clouds. My brother. Perfect in every single way. I want to be a better person. It doesn’t make sense. Constantly bad and constantly hidden. Sometimes it would be better if I wasn’t around.

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Right and Wrong, yes or no?

Dear Diary, I cannot fathom my own thoughts. No amount of time has helped me progress the understanding of the mismatched constellations inside my own head.

In the last few weeks, the lines between doing something because it’s the right thing to do and doing something because you feel like you have to has become somewhat blurred. It’s never easy to try and detangle your thoughts after months of justifying the pressure that’s been placed on you and actually deciding whether it’s right or wrong. Anyone knows that trying to comprehend the thoughts that are disorganised and misplaced somewhere within the cells of your mind is like trying to detangle sewing cotton after it’s been stretched and rolled into a ball… It feels impossible. But when you look a little closer at the factors that has caused the tangling, the reasons as to why this started then things start to make a little sense.

I’m writing this mainly to get my own thoughts out there. To be able to write and be heard so that people in the same predicament or a similar situation actually takes a step back and sees it for what it really is. You can want to do something, but it may not be the right thing to do. Feeling forced or being guilted into doing something is only going to end badly and what you’re currently feeling will only ever worsen. Take time to realise what the consequences will be: will you be happy if you go through with it? will it makes things worse? will it make things better? do you want to do it, or do you feel like you have to?

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Falling Leaves [part one] *unfinished*

Later, as he sat on his balcony eating the dog, Michael P. Ford reflected on the unusual events that had taken place within this huge apartment building during the previous three years. He toyed and ripped the meat from the bone as he looked around the dusty surroundings and remembered the life that once thrived. The ice cream truck that would stop on the corner and invite the kids out with its loud, obnoxious speaker. The old women that would meet outside the café opposite his balcony every afternoon. The laughing, the screaming and then the gunshots. A silence fell over Bromsgrove that day and all that was heard was the echoing of commands followed by the emptying of a barrel.

“Three years ago,” a voice trailed from behind Michael, “we wouldn’t be eating dog. We would have bread. Butter –“

“And you wouldn’t look like shit,” Michael snapped before reluctantly turning to look at what he could only describe was his alive but decomposing wife. Her bones stuck out at every point of her jaundiced and sagging skin. He always shivered at her sluggish and robotic movements and he feared her leather-like skin would finally expose the insides of her failing anatomy. He turned back to gaze from the balcony. His eyes slowly drifting down to stare at the dog meat in front of him and sighed. He had told her to stay away from him while he ate. But she never. She knew just how to put him off his food.

“I’ll go out today,” Michael started. “I’ll go down to the tunnels and see if Lloyds around. I’ll get food.”

“And you’ll happily leave me here? What if they come back?” His wife once adventurous and fearless now feared the silence that drowned her life.

“They won’t. If there were any plans to raid we would know by now,” Michael retreated carelessly. The love and care he once felt for her unconditionally was now a chore that he had no motivation to attend to.

“Lloyd would sell you out if it meant the old boys off his back.”

“Well, let’s just hope I’m not here when they do come back,” he stood from his chair and edged his way past her, being overly careful not to touch or even look at her. Grabbing his jacket from the dining room chair and the keys from the table, he unlocked the door and left her behind. The overwhelming stench of the damp walls surrounded him and so he quickly called the elevator and stepped inside to descend to the empty streets.

Outside of the apartment building, the air was bitter. Michael pulled his collar up over his neck and buried his hands deep into his coat pockets. He walked quickly towards the café opposite the apartment building and made his way inside. On further inspection, he realised the curtain above the door was drawn – something he insisted on keeping open so it wouldn’t look like anything was being hidden. Blaming the third floor family with their two annoying teenagers, Michael pulled the curtain away from the door and continued through. As he manoeuvred himself behind the counter, he saw what seemed to be a blanket. Who would want to hide here? He thought to himself. With only a maximum of five residents, the apartment building he had just came from had hundreds – maybe near a thousand of unused apartments. There was no one to accompanying the blanket which made it up for grabs. Finders keepers, Michael thought to himself. Making a mental note to pick it up on the way back, Michael grew excited at the thought of being able to sleep alone and not next to his horrifically fragile wife, Cass. He kicked the blanket further under the counter so that it was out of sight and descended down the flight of stairs.

The café had always had an underground tunnel since, according to history, the early 19th century. Benjamin Herring, the man who created this now helpful gateway, was a wanted man from countries all over the world. He went by many names and his crimes usually revolved around fraud and scam. He apparently bought a purebred fresian horse from France under the alias Ralph Waldo Emerson, a leading poet transcendentalist and influential philosopher. By the time the fresian owner had figured it out, Benjamin was on a ship with this beautiful, majestic and untraceable beast back to Britain and somewhere a leading poet was going to have to pay the rest of the £123,000 owed.

It was said that this Benjamin Herring actually had a secret family and a daughter of his had begged for a fresian stallion for her 13th birthday. He was a man that kept to his promises, or so the tales went. There was also a rumour that these underground tunnels did – at one point – lead to a home of his apparent secret family and when they finally figured out who Mr. Herring was, he blew the off leading tunnel passage so it would never be revealed. Michael didn’t believe that though. Herring was a bastard, so he probably stole the fresian in an attempt to sleep with a curvy, beautiful woman that was far too expensive for his taste.

But this tunnel did give Michael a case of sickness and sadness. The café owner let everyone in just before the invasion of the government led execution had fully entered the Bromsgrove area in full swing. Every child that played in the park or by the ice cream truck gushed inside the guaranteed safety of the cramped tunnel. As the gunshots got louder and the screaming slowly faded, it didn’t take long for the soldiers to investigate the once unknown but now popular secret passageway. Michael shivered at the thought of the surrounding child bones under his feet.

As the tunnel bended and Michael followed in almost complete darkness, the red light of the fireflies flickered from the other end. Michael whistled and put three fingers into the air to show he was friend and not foe.

“Ford,” Michael stated as he neared. The face that greeted him was familiar, “Is Lloyd around?”

The man shrugged. His face was muddy and scarred.

“Any idea where I could find him?”

Again, the man just simply shrugged.

“God damnit, Slate, tell me where to go,” Michaels patience started wearing thin.

“’is girls gone missin’. Ain’t seen him for ‘bout a week,” Slate shrugged, “won’ be able to help your sorry arse today, Ford.”

Michael rummaged around in his pocket and picked out a gold ring. He showed Slate briefly then closed his palm around it. “Probably worth a decent amount,” Michael started, “maybe a few hundred if you took it to the dealers.” He paused, opened up his hand and stared at his wife’s treasured wedding ring, “maybe even a few thousand to the old boys.”

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Negativity can turn into Positivity with enough persistance.

It’s not often I get to say that I’m happy. Even less often I get to say that I’m in some sort of happiness spell where things generally seem to be going okay. Currently, I feel like I’m in that spell and it’s refreshing after spending months of battling everything and everyone – for what seemed like no reason. The best part of it, is that I can say I’m currently comfortable in my own little private world, and yeah, there might be stress induced by work and looming deadlines, sleepless nights and exhausting days but I’m okay with that, finally. It’s nice knowing that things might be taking a 180 degree turn and heading uphill. Or at least staying maintained while I gear myself up for the climb.

It’s time like this that positivity generally hits me. People suffering from the decreasing moods over months knows that it’s too easy to fall into a state of negativity. Constantly battling your own voices inside your head that tells you it will never get better. It’s easy to believe those voices too and you’ll probably end up in a deeper ditch than you started off by listening to them. But here’s the kicker, with enough persistence to carry on, it can and will get better. I tell you this with confidence. As a person who dips up and down quite frequently, I can tell you that no matter what you’re going through – whether seemingly insignificant (although I’ve mentioned this before, never ever ever think your problems are insignificant, even if you’re crying over spilt milk) or whether it’s life altering – it will get better. Never give up, because giving up means giving in, and giving in means it’s over and you’ve succumbed to the voices that plagued you.

In the next couple of days, I intend to write a little step-by-step guide that helped me, and will hopefully help you, dear reader, into finding out yourself. Into finding out what you can do to improve your current situation. I never want you to feel alone, and I promise you, for as long as I’m around, you never will be. My email and my twitter are there for a reason – I’m here to listen. I’m frequently told that people are too scared to email or tweet me about things in case I don’t reply or that I’m too busy, but I promise you, I’ll never be too busy. You all mean the world to me, and for the amount of times you lovely people have helped me, I want to be here to help you.

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