(no subject)
I've always wanted to be a writer. To me, writers are magical people, the kind of person who can take the amazing scene in their head and lay it out in front of you, make you feel the grass around your feet, show you the eerie blackness of the underground cave, and let you hear the babbling brook on the bank of the creek. They have a whole world to give you, and it feels real; it moves and breathes and, sometimes, hiccups and coughs, gasps, chokes...
Sometimes I wonder, if I really work at it, whether I could do something like that or not. Of course, I'm not particularly adept at it just yet. I can definitely get the scene moving, but ever so often I'll stumble here and there, until finally, marred by the myriad of mistakes, I just toss the whole thing into the trash. To me, my writing seems artificial, like a computer printout of someone else's painting. It isn't... "beautiful" enough. Something like this, to me, is beautiful.
Of course, I always tell myself, "I don't have the time to practice writing, I've got to catch up on things." I've been playing catch-up for a few years now, wondering whether I'll ever get ahead. At the end of every day, there's always something I've failed to do, something unfulfilled, and it eats at my pride. "Aren't I better than this? Can't I do all these simple tasks in the span of one day?" I ask myself. So I try again tomorrow, and I do make headway, but I end up with more tasks to fulfill. And so I go through a hundred tomorrows, digging myself an inch deeper day by day, until suddenly the sky has become a six-foot-wide circle six feet above me.
Anyway... I think I'll try the 30-day journal challenge again. The last time I did it, I viewed it as a wall to climb over. This time, I think I'll frame it as an opportunity to improve my writing skills. The last few entries have sounded so plain; they were purely informative rather than emotive. A report recited by a reconnaissance robot. I'll try to put everything into it this time. I'll dedicate time to this. Foolish though it may be, I'll try to express what I am instead of what I do.
Sometimes I wonder, if I really work at it, whether I could do something like that or not. Of course, I'm not particularly adept at it just yet. I can definitely get the scene moving, but ever so often I'll stumble here and there, until finally, marred by the myriad of mistakes, I just toss the whole thing into the trash. To me, my writing seems artificial, like a computer printout of someone else's painting. It isn't... "beautiful" enough. Something like this, to me, is beautiful.
Of course, I always tell myself, "I don't have the time to practice writing, I've got to catch up on things." I've been playing catch-up for a few years now, wondering whether I'll ever get ahead. At the end of every day, there's always something I've failed to do, something unfulfilled, and it eats at my pride. "Aren't I better than this? Can't I do all these simple tasks in the span of one day?" I ask myself. So I try again tomorrow, and I do make headway, but I end up with more tasks to fulfill. And so I go through a hundred tomorrows, digging myself an inch deeper day by day, until suddenly the sky has become a six-foot-wide circle six feet above me.
Anyway... I think I'll try the 30-day journal challenge again. The last time I did it, I viewed it as a wall to climb over. This time, I think I'll frame it as an opportunity to improve my writing skills. The last few entries have sounded so plain; they were purely informative rather than emotive. A report recited by a reconnaissance robot. I'll try to put everything into it this time. I'll dedicate time to this. Foolish though it may be, I'll try to express what I am instead of what I do.