Bulldozing the Block

I realize it’s been a couple of months since my last semi-cohesive post. Life has been rather busy and I’ve been attempting to deal with writer’s block. I thought I’d share some techniques which helped me get over it.

1. Writing by hand. I usually type my work straight onto the computer now, since it’s so much quicker and there is absolutely no chance of me getting a sore hand. However, I’ve realized that I cannot just rely on the keyboard. There is something very meditative and soothing about using good old fashioned pen and paper. One can be very spontaneous. Before I even attempt to write something semi-decent nowadays, I always write in my journal first, more often than not about things which have nothing to do with my project, but it works. Once the words get flowing on paper, they can get flowing on the screen. Perhaps it’s something to do with mobilizing the right brain and putting the left brain to sleep.
2. Exercise; I am not joking. Exercise took my mind off the block and made me focus on everything within instead of on what’s around me, so my imagination could work without disruption.
3. I still type out my creative projects straight onto the computer even though I write random stuff by hand before I attempt it. However, drastic measures must be taken before I can actually work. Facebook must be closed, and on my instant messaging program, I set my status to offline so that no one will bother me. It’s really agitating to be in the middle of a brilliant sentence (or what is brilliant for me, anyway) and then someone asks that I talk to them. I tried telling them that I was busy but that usually doesn’t work. So now I sign in as ‘offline’, which means discussions never get started in the first place.
4. Bouncing ideas off other people: If you have someone who can brainstorm with you, it’s always fun to bounce ideas off them. They might come up with angles you’ve never thought of before. Or they might make you realize that there are some things you would never ever write, not even by pain of death.
5. Get up early in the morning when everyone is still asleep. Silence is wonderfully conducive to creativity; even better than music as white noise, although that sometimes works, depending on one’s mood. For me, I’m still half asleep at that time of the day and so my rational logical side isn’t working so well, therefore my creative side can explore more freely.

Now, for the things that I did wrong while attempting to get over my writer’s block:

1. Watch TV/movies/read books before writing. It completely disrupts my own voice and then I realize I can’t stop thinking about what I’ve just watched or read.
2. Plan. Planning doesn’t work. Creating a world is a spontaneous activity. It’s disorganized, impulsive–in short, basically everything that a plan is not. If I’m creating properly, I should never be able to guess what’s going to happen next in the story. Characters and plots should just develop themselves and all I’m trying to do is to put it all down on the page.
3. Trying to please everyone. It never works. I tried it and it put so much pressure on me to make everyone happy that I forgot about the most important person; me. One has to write what one likes, or else the writing comes across as being forced and awkward. It’s also really tedious to write something that one does not particularly want to write.
4. Listening to too much advice. This is related to number 3. Taking some advice is good, but when I take too much advice, the writing becomes someone else’s and it doesn’t feel like mine anymore.
5. Thinking too much. If I think too much about it, I can’t get into the characters’ heads as much and it ceases to sound genuine.

 

With You, I’ll Be Only Sibylla (part 15)

Disclaimer: The plot and characters of Kingdom of Heaven belongs to Sir Ridley Scott, William Monahan, and history. I don’t own anything.

 

Chapter 15: What Have I Done?

 

She was alone in the crypt with her son, save for the echoes and bitter memories of brighter days. In her hand, she held a pewter knight. It had been Baldwin’s favourite toy. She was still mouthing the words to the song she had been singing when he had fallen asleep forever. Sibylla felt dry, as if all her tears had been drained from her. The grief, however, had not lessened, nor had the guilt. Had she done the right thing? She was almost certain that it had been more merciful to send her son to God peacefully and painlessly, but doubt was still gnawing at her heart. At the back of her mind, there was a small voice calling her a murderer.

 

Sibylla vaguely remembered going out of the crypt and being dressed in the royal robes of a queen. She was queen? That didn’t sound right. But she was, and that…made Guy the King of Jerusalem. She stiffened. How had it come to this? She had killed her son, and her kingdom. Balian had been right; she could not hold the kingdom in peace, and there would be war. Even now, she was certain that Reynald and Guy were busy spilling blood and preparing for a confrontation with Saladin. And the kingdom was in its death throes like a beast, felled by disease and now attacked by the spears and arrows of hunters.

 

With You, I’ll Be Only Sibylla (part 13)

Disclaimer: I don’t own anything that you recognize. The characters and the plot of Kingdom of Heaven belong to Sir Ridley Scott and William Monahan, and History.

 

Chapter 13: Why?

 

Rumbling drunken snores penetrated the darkness. Sibylla lay wide awake, staring at the canopy above her. The sweaty sheets were twisted around her body, hiding her shame and nakedness. Beside her, Guy snorted and then rolled over so that his back was turned to her. That was better, but only just. Her body still hurt from his brutish touches, and she knew she would find bruises blossoming on her pale skin the next morning. It hadn’t been like this with Balian.

 

A lump grew in her throat as she remembered the tender touches of her gentle knight. Every caress had spoken of love. She supposed that she would never feel those caresses again. He had rejected her, and hurt her pride in every way possible. She had expected him to return to his little fief at Ibelin and stay there, becoming just another baron who regarded her with cold distant courtesy. Why he was still in Jerusalem was a mystery, for he never showed his face at court, probably because he was loathe to see her. Perhaps he was still here because he had business to settle before he could go back to Ibelin? That was the only rational explanation. However, in her heart, there was a little voice whispering to her, telling her that he was here because even though he did not want to see her, he was even more reluctant to leave her.

 

A Portrait of the Joker as a Young Man

Disclaimer: I don’t own anything that you recognize. Batman belongs to DC Comics and Christopher Nolan. I’m just playing with the characters.

How had it come to this? Delirious with medication and only slightly aware that he was in a white room, Jack Donahue repeated this question over and over again in his head. As the anaesthetics wore off, he became aware of the tubes connected to his body and the soreness of his swollen face. Slowly, he reached up. His fingers came into contact with stitches on his cheeks. The memories came back. Jack groaned and tried to sit up, but his body was still uncoordinated for the anaesthetics were still in his system.

 

“Mr. Donahue?” said a voice. “Don’t try to move. You’ve lost a lot of blood.” A hand pushed him back down onto the hospital bed. Jack did not resist. As consciousness returned, so did the memories. A tear slid down his face. He wished he could forget.

 

With You, I’ll Be Only Sibylla (part 12)

Disclaimer: I don’t own the characters or the storyline. This is just my interpretation of Sir Ridley Scott’s film, Kingdom of Heaven.

 

Chapter 12: Price of Power

Sibylla’s mind was reeling with all the changes. There was so much she had to do, but she was not ready to deal with the affairs of state yet. First, there was her brother’s funeral. Simply thinking about Baldwin’s death made her want to weep again, but she knew she couldn’t. She was the greatest authority in the kingdom now, as the mother of the uncrowned king, and she had to be strong; stronger than the foundations of Jerusalem itself.

 

Outside her window, the sky blue standards of the kingdom fluttered against a pale grey sky. The sun, usually blazing brightly down on the Holy Land, was nowhere to be seen. The princess could not help but feel as if God had turned away from her and the kingdom.

 

‘You mustn’t think like that,’ she told herself. There was no time for morbid thoughts. She had to prepare for her brother’s funeral and for her son’s coronation.

 

“Youmna!’ she called. The maid came in and curtseyed.

 

“Milady?” she said.

 

“Send for the Lord Marshal,” said the princess. “I must consult him about matters concerning the coronation.”

 

“As you wish, milady,” said Youmna. As she dipped another curtsey, she glanced up at Sibylla. The maid had never seen her so haggard, as if she had not slept well for many nights. Underneath the face powder, her complexion was pale and she seemed almost translucent, as if she was fading away from exhaustion. The maid opened her mouth, and then hesitated. Sibylla was a princess, and she was only a handmaiden. What right did a handmaiden have to tell a princess what to do? However, Youmna knew that it was her duty to serve her mistress’ best interests. “Milady, perhaps you should rest for a while,” she ventured.

 

Sibylla sighed. “I cannot rest, Youmna,” she said. “There is too much to do.”

 

“You cannot work if you are half-alive, milady,” said the maid, more firmly this time. At least Sibylla had not snapped at her; that was a good sign.

 

“Very well. Send of the Lord Marshal. I shall rest after I have seen him.”

 

The mini-philosopher in me.

I just finished my essay, but I’m getting a sense of doom, possibly because I feel that my essay is horrid. It always happens though; I finish a piece of writing (done in a style with which I am not familiar) and I am very insecure about it. I get reassured when others tell me it’s good, or when I get an A (that does not happen most of the time, so I suppose my worries are not over the top, mostly).

I despise academic subcultures. Actually, I despise having to conform to any style. Perhaps that rebel in me is still not tamed, because whenever anyone adamantly argues for one thing, I feel the urge to argue for the opposite side, even though I might not agree with my own arguments. I don’t know why, but I feel really irritated when people are very certain that they are right. It seems to me that no one side is right, although all sides can be wrong, but we don’t see how wrong we are until something goes really badly in our lives, and we have to revise our opinions.

Don’t know what’s gotten into me, because that was really philosophical. Usually, I’m just a ditzy girl who likes to look at pictures of good looking actors and cast them in my stories. Perhaps it’s the influence of Kingdom of Heaven, since I’ve just finished the movie. It makes me wiser and more thoughtful than usual.

Anyway, considering I’ve just finished Kingdom of Heaven, I’m going to write Baldwin V’s coronation scene, and that court drama concerning Guy and Sibylla. Not sure how I missed it last time; I think I was too busy with the creosote bush and a sulky and hot knight.

 

Heaven

I just watched the second half of Kingdom of Heaven again today, and it was still an amazing experience. I don’t know if it’s possible, but I’m even more in love with Balian. The acting was beautiful and touching. I could feel his shock when Sibylla declared that she didn’t really give a damn about what she did as long as she had power. I know I’ve already written that scene in ‘With You, I’ll Be Only Sibylla’, but I’m wondering whether I should write a very short piece from Balian’s point of view at that moment in time. For all the stories which I’ve written about him, I’ve never written his perspective in first person before. I’m a little afraid of the first person perspective, because it doesn’t sound like the character, but it sounds like me talking. It’s also rather limited. However, considering this is Balian, and he’s been my muse ever since I started airing my work, I’m willing to give it a try.

I also managed to skip out that very emotional scene when Sibylla takes off her brother’s mask and sees his ravaged face. How did I manage to skip it? Probably I was too busy thinking about Balian and the creosote bush. Maybe I should do a oneshot of that as well, just to fill in the gaps. Actually, there are lots of things that I could write if I want to elaborate on Sir Ridley’s masterpiece. Too many ideas; too little time.

 

With You, I’ll Be Only Sibylla (Part 11)

Disclaimer: All the characters and events of Kingdom of Heaven belong to Sir Ridley Scott and William Monahan, and, of course, History. I’m just borrowing them and writing my own interpretation.

 

The walls and hangings muffled the sounds from outside. Many candles burned, but they did nothing to dispel the shadow which was falling over the Latin Kingdom of Jerusalem. It took a while for Sibylla’s vision to adjust to the darkness of the king’s chamber. It had been so long since she had set foot in here. The scent of incense could not conceal the underlying smell of decay which permeated the room.

 

She approached the bed where her brother lay; a pitiable and wasted figure. One bandaged hand rested on his chest. The other arm was outstretched; it was in the same position which the physician had left it. The silver mask was still in place, however. It was the same cold emotionless face which he showed the world; the face which was supposed to hide weakness.

 

With a shaking hand, the princess reached out and rested it on her brother’s bandaged one, unsure of whether he would feel it or not. Baldwin stirred, and with what seemed like a great effort, opened his eyes. “Hello,” he said. His voice was breathy and weak, but Sibylla’s heart lurched at the sound of that benevolent tone. It was the same one which he had used with her all those years ago, before he had put on the silver mask.

 

A Random Bout of Typing.

I’m feeling rather good about myself at the moment. I was not rushing around trying to get everything done this morning, and I wrote a decent amount, so I’m pretty proud of myself, actually, since in the mornings, I’m generally not motivated to do anything. I also finished one essay in the weekend, so that might contribute to my confidence this morning, since I have almost three weeks to work on my other one.

I’m waiting for the university printer to work at the moment. It’s still early, so the room is relatively empty. There are still free computers. Later in the day, it will be very full. I have so many papers in my backpack that it is not funny. I’ll have to sort them out and file them tonight, or else I’ll lose track of everything and I’ll never be able to locate my notes. It takes so much energy to simply make myself do the work though. I’d much rather write about something, as long as it is prose and not something argumentative. Now, that takes far too much energy.

The concrete outside is dark with water. The branches of the trees are skeletal in the pale grey winter light; they are naked, save for a few brown withered leaves still clinging onto them. Very few people are out and about on this cold dreary mrning. I can see two people sitting on a bench, talking and smoking. Well, at least one of them is talking. The other just sits there, staring in front of her as if she is simply part of the landscape.

Waves of hot hair waft from the heater beside me. It gets a bit irritating, actually, but I chose the seat because it was close to the window and because the computer was already on, so I wouldn’t have to wait for it to start up. There is a text that I have to read for this afternoon’s tutorial, right after my class on Islamic history. I don’t feel like reading it, but I know I have to, or else I won’t be able to contribute. However, the remnants of the weekend still stain my mind. I want to make a video for YouTube, or just simply type and let the sound of my fingers tapping on the keyboard sooth me. It’s almost like meditating. Whenever I just let myself go and simply write or type, it’s like I’ve gone into a trance. Nothing really seems to matter except the sound of the keyboard and the words of the screen, or, if I’m writing with pen and paper, the scratch of the pen, the scribbles, and the texture of the paper.

My eyelids feel heavy, as if I am about to fall asleep again. It must be the warmth of the room, and my relaxed state, because if it was a bit colder, I would be wide awake. Temperature is so important to levels of concentration. I like it a little bit cooler, but everyone else seems to be fine in the warmth. Perhaps I’m used to a colder temperature indoors, since at my place, we hardly ever use heaters, prefering to wear coats indoors.

Perhaps I should stop typing now. My fingers on the keyboard feel good, but the sound and the rhythm are making me sleepy.

 

With You, I’ll Be Only Sibylla (Part 10)

Disclaimer: Kingdom of Heaven is directed by Sir Ridley Scott and written by William Monahan. I don’t own any of it, and I’m not making any profit. I’m just borrowing the story and the characters and making my own interpretation.

 

Chapter 10: The Pain of Love

 

To be confused was one of the most tormenting feelings that a man could have. The horse moved of its own accord underneath him. It knew its way home, but Balian, unlike his horse, did not know exactly where he would go next, or where he actually wanted to go. He held the reins loosely, all the while battling the urge to go back and beg Sibylla for forgiveness, even though he had done nothing wrong. His heart ached. He longed for her, loved her, and he would gladly die for her, but he could not sell his soul, not even for his Sibylla.

 

‘Did you know?’ he asked Godfrey inside his head. ‘Did you know that to be a knight meant that I would have to suffer?’ He felt the phantom sting as he remembered the slap that the old knight had given him at his knighting ceremony. Yes, of course Godfrey had known. He himself had been a knight, and he had told Balian through that slap that he would suffer. The man closed his eyes. He should be accepting this all with good grace; he had come to Jerusalem for forgiveness, after all, and this was his penance. However, his heart would not accept it quietly. He was torn.

 

“I do love you,” he whispered into the cool night breeze, half hoping that it would carry his words to his princess.

 

Just life, really.

Well, I actually managed to get up in the morning today, and then wasted all the time online. Honestly, I feel as if I am addicted to the internet. The first thing I do when I get up is go on the computer and see who’s online. It’s sad, actually. A lot of time should actually be spent writing. However, I have just finished a story, and I expect to feel melancholic for a while yet. It just feels like that another stage of my life is over, and I’ll never experience the joy of writing that particular story again.

I did read a book, and it was a really funny one too; a chick-lit novel. I’ve become quite fond of those at the moment. Maybe it’s the need to read something silly and lighthearted after reading all those serious history books. My friend’s got his forum up and running, and people are posting things there. It’s quite exciting, and I’ve stolen some ideas from the other forum .

Anyway, I did a paper dump again (to those of you who don’t know, a paper dump is when I dump all my drafts because I’ve finished typing them up. It amounts to quite a lot of paper per week). My desk now looks slightly tidier, but I’ve yet to prepare for the return to my studies. Exam grades come out on Tuesday, and I hate waiting for results. It’s almost worse than doing the exam itself.

This week, I should actually be working on the beginning of the next instalment of my fanfiction series. I’ve got the minor details sorted out, finally. What amazed me was how long it took to find a proper name for a very minor character, and the right Roman emperor. Since it’s only the first week of semester, I don’t expect too much work, so it’ll be quite good for launching the sequel (and even if it was a busy week, I would launch the sequel anyway. I made a promise).

Nothing exciting has happened in my life lately. I’ve even neglected journal writing *gasp*. Once the semester starts, there will be more things to talk about.

 

With You, I’ll Be Only Sibylla (Part 9)

Disclaimer: I don’t own anything. Kingdom of Heaven belongs to Sir Ridley Scott and William Monahan, and History.

 

Chapter 9: A Kingdom of Conscience

 

Doors were meant for protection; those leading to Sibylla’s quarters were made to keep out any unwelcome presence. Inside was her refuge; a place of peace and safety in the middle of Jerusalem’s dark undercurrents and courtly intrigues. The colours and hangings had all been chosen for the tranquillity they represented. The inner chambers were sheltered from the heat, but with the coming of evening, they would be graced for a short while, with the dying golden light of the sun as it set over the heart of Christendom.

 

The princess loved the security she felt when she was in her sanctuary; it was like being in the warm loving embrace of her old nurse, who had long since passed away. When she returned this afternoon, she expected to find her son there, playing or completing the tasks set by his tutor. What she saw gave her a most unpleasant shock. Guy had gone too far; he had invaded her haven and worse yet, he was with her son, telling her boy how he ought to arrange his pewter figures. The man had his back to her, but she could hear him quite clearly. “Always surround your knights with foot-soldiers,” he told the boy.

 

I’m feeling lazy. What’s new?

I should be typing up my latest fanfiction chapter at the moment. It’s supposed to be three to four thousand words long, and while I have it all written out by hand, getting it down in electronic form can be a bit of a bother because typing can be rather boring, especially if you are watching out for stupid mistakes. Creative writing is unlike simply blogging or journal writing. You actually have to think, and if your brain is like mine, it sometimes just can’t be bothered. One good thing is that I have the entire storyline figured out (even thought this is actually no big deal because there are only two chapters left to go, including this one). I think I have the situation under control. The same cannot be said of the sequel, but that’s part of the fun of creative writing, I guess. To quote Bilbo Baggins, ‘you step out onto the road, and if you don’t watch your feet, there’s no knowing where you might be swept off to’, or something along those lines anyway. Everything in writing is quite unexpected; it is for me at least. That’s why I don’t like planning anything beyond a very vague outline. Too much planning ruins the element of surprise which makes being a writer exciting.

 

Onto other things. My parents and I were discussing private schools this morning. I myself was educated in a state school, and from what I can see, there is no difference between a private school and a state school. The same curriculum is taught (the Ministry of Education sets that) and in fact, the only thing which makes a private school a private school is the ridiculous cost. Their uniforms are more complicated and more expensive, the fees are very high. I feel that sending kids to private school isn’t really a good thing for them; it does, however, boost the parents’ ego to see their children in a ‘posh upper class school’ or whatnot. I find that quite objectionable, especially since these people seem to think that people who attend private schools are somehow more cultured than those who go to state schools.

 

The most important thing about a school is actually the quality of teachers. I have to say I have not been too impressed by the quality of many teachers whom I have encountered. Some of them seem to think that their job is to intimidate students. Others just sit in the classroom and make sure that the students are not burning down school buildings. Hardly any of them teach, and of the small minority who do teach, not very many try to make the experience enjoyable for the students. I’m not quite sure what most of them are being paid for. I remember sitting in a math class, and not being able to keep my eyes open because a) the light was at optimum sleep level and b) we were only copying notes from overhead slides which were so old that the writing on them was blurry and the plastic was yellowish. The writing was also in cursive and illegible. The only thing I learnt in math was how to draw, because I had nothing else to do.

 

Elementary/primary school was even worse. Not only did I not learn anything, I lost self-esteem. (that was covered in the post ‘Rub it in their faces’). Those teachers were a waste of time, waste of money. They did do a lot of successful advertising because almost everyone felt they were working hard. I don’t see what’s so hard about photocopying numerous worksheets and then handing them out, or taking the students out for a run each day. The work wasn’t even marked, so naturally, I had no incentive to do it. Besides, it was completely boring, and there was no point in doing about a hundred sums per day when you did not even get to know whether you got them right or not.