I’m Bored

When I was in elementary school, I was in a church play called Barney and Bailey’s Greatest Show in Heaven and Earth. I remember almost nothing about it except singing in a trio about walking by faith while walking on a wooden board pretending to be a tightrope artist. I remember my leotard covered in sequined pink and blue zigzags. It had a matching scrunchie.

And then there’s the “bored” scene.

Bailey: I’m bored.

Barney: Me too.

Bailey: I hate being bored.

Barney: Me too.

Bailey: I hate it when you say “Me too” ALL THE TIME!

Barney: Me too.

I think of this scene any time someone says “I’m bored.” The dialogue forces itself unbidden to the front of my consciousness. So when I said “I’m bored” to my husband earlier yesterday evening, I half expected him to answer, “Me too.”

But I really am bored. With my book, I mean. There are only so many times I can go over a plot before I do not care anymore.

I couldn’t care less if my heroine dies. She annoys me anyway.

I couldn’t care less if the plot doesn’t work. It was a dumb idea to begin with.

I couldn’t care less if the book rots on google documents until the end of time. I’m sick of it.

And yet…

It could be really cool. If I cared.

Ah, the doldrums. Anyone have a suggestion for how to care again?


3 thoughts on “I’m Bored

Add yours

  1. The problem is especially bad for me because when I am bored, I basically pretend the story doesn’t exist. That’s pretty much where I’ve been for about two months now. Not good.

  2. I totally go through the same thing. Which is one reason why I’ve felt so unmotivated to write lately.

    I think I have the most success when I read an awesome story or watch an awesome movie and I suddenly become determined to match it. Everyone has to find their own motivation, though…

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