A Mid-November Morning's Ramble

Writing interesting stuff on demand is hard. I'll bet you've encountered this at one time or another--which is why most of what goes up here is random story chunks on which I need feedback (which, by the way, I don't seem to be getting). Writing boring stuff on demand is also hard, because writing anything on demand is hard, but it's slightly easier because on-demand brain-spew is usually rather dull from the point of view of anyone but the source.

So here I sit, writing a brain-spew post on demand in the least interesting way possible.

I wonder why this is. I know plenty of people, myself included, who can bang out a decent short story in about ten minutes with the right inspiration, but blank out completely when confronted with an assignment. If I were commanded to write a completely new story right now, with no specific range of subjects, I couldn't do it--partly because most of my story ideas have to marinate in the brain a bit before they get written (with a few exceptions), and partly because my current thoughts consist of Give me some parameters, dang it!

Why can't we generate something new and brilliant when commanded to do so? Why is it that we wake up in the middle of the night with brilliant ideas, but are incapable of this when someone tells us to? (Which is only a guess, because I don't have much experience with this. Incidentally, have you noticed that I really like parentheses?)

This is what happens when you let my brain loose to spew where it may. Perhaps I ought to have warned you, but I didn't think of it until just now. Sorry.

To drag out a nothing-post even longer, isn't it interesting how our writing styles tend to mimic those of our favourite authors to a certain extent? I'm not just referring to my strewing of "u"s here (although I must ask, what do Americans have against this innocent vowel?)--after reading a particularly good book, I unconsciously alter my writing ever so slightly so that it becomes similar. This sometimes happens with particularly bad books as well, in which case there is nothing to do but reread something by Terry Pratchett, or someone else amusing (and, often, British).

I think perhaps I ought to end this ramble before it becomes large enough to devour the entire internet, or possibly just the more accessible parts.

So long, and thanks for all the fish.