Mark Marinovich's Blog - Posts Tagged "writing"
An excuse to write
Both new and seasoned writers find excuses not to write. They’re tired. Uninspired. Blocked. Busy with holidays. Travel. Maybe they have an aversion to torture. I’ve written plenty—many screenplays and, most recently, my third novel—but I still need to warm up. Wash the dishes, watch the news, take a walk—anything to steer me away from my desk. Eventually, though, I sit down and do the work. Often, it is just that—work. That’s why writers grasp for excuses to avoid the excruciating pain of typing, scrawling, or dictating those first tentative sentences.
I wrote my previous novel six years ago while working full-time at a Silicon Valley tech company. I started writing at 4:30 each morning before work. At times it was grueling. I questioned myself: why put myself through this? I didn’t expect I’d ever write another novel—until my close encounter with a parking lot.
Two Januarys ago, I tripped and fell, sustaining multiple fractures to my right arm. The pain was relentless. I felt much like Alex DeLarge, the leader of the “droogs” in A Clockwork Orange, whose eyes were clamped open to force him to watch films designed to discourage violent behavior. I, in my own way, was trapped, staring at books and TV 24 hours a day. After a week, I realized I needed to find another way forward.
To keep my mind occupied and distracted from the pain, I started writing Seacliff Park, aiming for 200 pages—enough to get me through months of rehab. Ten months and 500 pages later, I printed the draft and gradually edited it down to 460 pages. I found an excuse to write—and I’ll always be grateful to that parking lot.
I wrote my previous novel six years ago while working full-time at a Silicon Valley tech company. I started writing at 4:30 each morning before work. At times it was grueling. I questioned myself: why put myself through this? I didn’t expect I’d ever write another novel—until my close encounter with a parking lot.
Two Januarys ago, I tripped and fell, sustaining multiple fractures to my right arm. The pain was relentless. I felt much like Alex DeLarge, the leader of the “droogs” in A Clockwork Orange, whose eyes were clamped open to force him to watch films designed to discourage violent behavior. I, in my own way, was trapped, staring at books and TV 24 hours a day. After a week, I realized I needed to find another way forward.
To keep my mind occupied and distracted from the pain, I started writing Seacliff Park, aiming for 200 pages—enough to get me through months of rehab. Ten months and 500 pages later, I printed the draft and gradually edited it down to 460 pages. I found an excuse to write—and I’ll always be grateful to that parking lot.
