Help, writer's block!

It's my summer break, and my mom wants me to write more. I haven't got the foggiest of what to write about next.

 I'm thinking, I'm thinking, I'm thinking, and I'm DONE. To people who think that all writers have to do is snap their fingers and the words in their heads make some miraculous story, then your WAY off. You can't just think of something and be done. You have to have inspiration, a reason to write. I can't just start writing nonsense and get published. My mom obviously thinks that. She nags me constantly about writing more, instead of sitting and playing the sims and watching television. That's where I'm getting my ideas from. Take Sweeney Todd for instance. I watch it, because it's a great movie, and it gives me ideas. I can't just have a dream and write it down. To write, you have to think and plan. I have 3 books to take care of, and haven't the foggiest idea of how to finish them. Please help!

Reviews

[Vincent Weathers]

I have walked the line in which you have drawn before us. I know what you are talking about. I believe I should be writing more but I don't. My reasons are because of some obligations--mostly revolving around sleep and work. I am distracted by everything and nothing takes shape. I believe that ADD and its relative are non-existent. My focus is claimed by impulse or lack of my anticipation. I may have reasons to write but what if I cannot hear that pulse in my ear drums? The first thing that escapes is the internal thoughts of either depressing or sadistic nature--not in the wildest sense. You are lucky to have a parent who nags about you for not writing enough. My parents commit no moderation in that but are accepting of the fact that I write. They accept it with few to no questions asked. They express neither discouragement nor encouragement, concern nor excitement, nor care or the lack of. My cousin however was a supporter of my writing, even if my writing skills were piss-poor. "Hey man, you should write a book..." Though I am uncertain if he was encouraging me or considering it foolish, I tried anyway. I also extended my attempts to a forum where strangers read it as well. Despite my poor writing skills at that time, the stranger's responses were still encouraging.

When something stirs inside you like an untamed thunderbolt, you'll feel it as it comes out in the words. When this untamed charge is caged and smothered, everything that thrives on its juice becomes ghoulish and lethargic. Sometimes though, this 'electric charge' was never there to begin with. Instead a hollow the size of the grand canyon takes residence. Ideas seem far and few in between, characters neither can communicate with each other nor behave any way except listless. Events and the daily happenings happen at evolutionary level. This feeling, this dreading and depressing feeling makes you feel like a bacteria splitting his cells apart for some reason in which he doesn't know. I didn't mention that I think much about everything. The maps of my thinking include two looped spiral-staircases, neither have deviations of its own except for the thin barriers that seperate the track from empty space.

You are not alone, grasshopper. You're not the only one chirping in the summer night.
Write everyday. Keep writing. If your approach fails to produce, try something new.

Practice may soften the cactus
but a weak resolve never will.