My Brain Is In Overdrive, My Fingers Are Not...

Today is one of those grisly days where my fingers simply will not respond to the needs of my overactive imagination. My head is in overdrive; full of countless script ideas. It has been profusely plotting my hypothetical 13-part Doctor Who series; my science fiction trilogy, Star Child; my second sitcom idea, Superficial; my novel, Finding Life; and my dystopian film trilogy, Nightmare Diamond.

Naturally, you’ll know absolutely nothing about these titles (accept for Doctor Who, probably), as I have not yet written about them (though I shall do soon). What they are, however, is a list of the screenplay/novel projects which I’m currently hoping to work on in order to get my writing career off the ground.

You see, the problem is that these ideas are all there – sitting happily inside my skull – dying to be written out into screenplays. I know how each project begins; what the characters do; what their universes’ look like; and how they all end. It’s all up there – growing more and more grand in detail as each day passes – but I simply cannot be arsed to write any of them up. 

Today my mind has been more active than ever. It is as though all cylinders are running at their full capacity. The structures of my projects are becoming more clearer than ever before; the characters are beginning to grow into three-dimensional beings and the worlds which surround these stories are expanding in ways that I never imagined were possible. 

This is incredible news to me. It means that my brain is still has the ability to be somewhat creative. But when I finally sit down to write up these brand spanking new ideas, my hands just do not want to start typing. 

They drift reluctantly over the keyboard, uncertain on what order the words should go in. I finally manage to force out one or two miserable sentences, but then I decided that I hate them. I become angry at the fact that my ideas look less electrifying on paper than a plate of soggy toast does at the breakfast table. Where has all the excitement gone from my stories? Where are the grand city skylines and enigmatic characters? Why does it seem so bland and unoriginal on a word document? What has happened to all the colours and excitement of my precious brainchildren?

Then, I look up for a moment and catch sight of the kettle. “Oooooo” I think to myself; “I haven’t had a coffee in like five whole minutes. Maybe it’s time to get another”. Instantly, I forget about the aggravations of my writing ability and spend the next few minutes brewing the strongest cup of coffee that is humanely digestable. 

Afterward, I sit down again; my head firing out an entire army of luxurious concepts. The fingers once again hover unenthusiastically over the keyboard. Again I instantly end up hating everthing that they type out.  I pop the kettle on to distract myself from such negative emotions a second time round.

For hours on end, this process repeats itself; going round and round like a dog chasing its own tail. I dream of seeing my stories in their finished text formats; yet I absolute despise the process of actually writing them out. I just wish that my ideas could be automatically downloaded to the page from the moment that I dream them up. That way I could cut all this bullshit out. 

Today, my Brain is in overdrive, however my fingers are not. The thoughts are there, yet the ability to type is elsewhere. 

Anyway, I haven’t had a coffee for at least five minutes. Just gonna pop the kettle on...