Bad Words

Lately, the words just aren’t good. The words I write, I mean. The problem is not writer’s block; it feels more like writer’s mud. When I open my novel draft and add a sentence, the sentence just kind of hangs there, leading nowhere. Earlier today when I was trying to write a thoughtful blog post about a movie and an issue I have big feelings about, the words I typed felt more like descriptive drivel than meaningful analysis. (It is possible to bore oneself to tears with bad words.)

It always feels bad when the words aren’t good. But at least I know now the words will be better at some point. I’ve spent enough years writing to have trudged through countless bad paragraphs, bad stories, and one entire bad novel (that I never revisited), so I know it’s not always muddy on the other side. The sparkling sentence will return. And lead to another.

In fact, writing this post about days filled with bad words and bad ideas is helping dislodge something stuck in me, not just in my brain but in my body. Because that is also where the good words live, when conditions are right—in my limbs and chest and mouth.

Perhaps tomorrow when I wake up the conditions will be right, the words good, the story ready for me to tell it well.