This is why people watch movies. Or read books. Consume anything with a story in it:
I need some help. Yours.
Because I keep finding myself saying “I hate everything” or “I’m sooooo unhappy right now,” as I sit at my computer or walk the empty hall of my apartment.
Why? I’m not writing anymore.
Yeah, sure, copywriting is writing. So are writing proposals, and this blog, and emails, and updates, and Tweets and FB posts. But this kind of writing merely needs to be done.
None of it is the kind of writing I want to do.
The kind that made me want to write in the first place, that I’m increasingly desperate to write: fiction. Telling tales of made up people living in alternate worlds, or sometimes alternate lives in our world. I want—no need—to be a guide in the Interzone—excursions to The Way Thing Might Have Been or Could Yet Be.
So an effort to right a foundering ship I’m asking for help.
On a recent trip to Chicago, I was interviewed by Moresby Press writer Greg Beaubien. He asked several great questions, which lead to the following conversation: The Cost of Ambition and Deceiving Ourselves: Author W. Lance Hunt Discusses His Novel A Perfect Blindness As part of the never-ending campaign to help readers who would enjoy reading A Perfect Blindness find […]
Memorabilia from early Career Mercurial Visions
Sometimes your eyes see what they want and there is a veil of darkness covering them as both Scott and Jon hear what they want but often get blindsided by their own fears and the need to not be alone.
This pervasive, grinding ennui exhausted me.
It also challenged most of what I thought I knew about clinical depression, which I had studied while getting an undergraduate Psychology degree. I’d read about the exhaustion, the feelings of pointlessness, but had always conflated that with what I had personally experienced as feeling down, blue, bummed, hurt, let down, disappointed, fearful—yet my current state bore no semblance to any emotion I’d faced. To any emotion whatsoever.
Rather as I moved limply through the hours of my waking day, I felt nothing at all. As if emotion had been severed from me—all desire, all displeasure, and every shade of feeling in between. Read More
With marathons: as long as you cross the line, you win, no matter how long it takes.
Speaking of marathons, A Perfect Blindness has been out for about 6 months.
Not nearly what I wanted, hoped, nor planned for. I’m creaking along with about half of what I need for the first milestone (with an asterisk explained later).
Likely owing to that I’ve avoided doing what’s important. By which I mean the hard parts. Been busy as hell. But not getting what I need to get done: outreach. The letting people know the book exists part. The scary part. Read More