July 10, 2011

Can’t do it folks. I’ve tried. Hemingway had it looking real easy there for awhile, but after a few drinks, sitting in front of my computer trying to coherently put together thoughts makes me tired and ready to flip on the tube for some visual stimulation, so I don’t have to think. Drugs (the innocent ones) have a similar effect.

In the beginning though, after I’ve had a beer or two, I’ll admit it does make the words come. When I’m stuck thinking how crappy a page is coming along, alcohol does in fact help me shrug it off and just keep moving. In that sense it lifts the trashcan lid of my head open a little, so a bit of fresh air can seep in and refresh me. Stephen King has admitted to plugging his nose up with tissues to prevent his nose from bleeding all over the typewriter while writing Cujo and simultaneously snorting cocaine. In “On Writing” he said he doesn’t really remember writing Cujo, because he was so wacked out. I read “On Writing” a long time ago, but that was one of the instances from that book I’ll never forget.

King’s been clean for a long time now, and honestly I think that’s what works for me. However I will tell you, when I’m low on sleep, hungry, and have cried for the better part of the day, that’s when my best ideas come to me. When my spirit is at its lowest, and my body is at its breaking point. I often wonder why that is, but it doesn’t surprise me. The “no-sleep” bit can really torment a person and put them in a stupor. It’s actually been used as a form of torture in some countries. If your brain can’t properly digest the stimulation it receives throughout the day, it gets a little jumpy. For me it makes me both paranoid and alert. Thoughts that might enter someone’s mind on a drug trip start entering mine through a sneaky backdoor where the bouncer in charge there might be saying “sober? Alright, go on ahead.”  I even start to hallucinate a little. Was it Einstein who slept only 4 hours a night?

The point to this post is that I woke up last weekend hungover, sunburnt, tired, and scared. In a fragile state indeed. I’d had weird dreams all night long, and I ran to the computer to put them into a scene. My mind was naturally altered by the previous night’s decisions, as opposed to being purposefully induced into slow intoxication.

The wispy uncertainty of our dreams has always had me very intrigued, and they play a huge role in my novel. I’ve decided not to go with one of the paranoid delusions I’ve been reading about in The Paranoid’s Pocket Guide. I’ve decided to write a poem about each one of them instead, you know, in my copious free time. They just weren’t interesting enough to keep me wanting to learn more about them. Although I haven’t finished the book yet, so we’ll see.

What works best for you? Writing clear-headed or a bit foggy?

Monique Muro

Monique is an exceedingly happy human from LA. She runs the blog A Novel Quest, and writes. A lot.

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