A little something about that thing called Writing
Possibly one of the things I dislike about writing -- or the writing process -- is that time when you have all these nice thoughts in your head, but you can't seem to have enough words to describe them properly. You've got a whole story mapped out in your head, you start writing it with this feeling of contentment and bliss.
But then, when you read it all again after a few pages or so, you seem to think, "Hey, this looks like crap," and then you save this copy and make another copy of it, but with different words and, sometimes, totally different settings or beginnings, but with the same idea and characters in mind.
The thing is, the repetition of this whole process -- thinking, writing, reading, scrapping; rinse, gargle, and spit and all of that -- is beginning to get to me. Beginning to get to me meaning that I'm nearly at the end of my tether and am about to throw myself off a two-story building if throwing myself off a building will help me make up my mind about the story.
I like writing, really, but there are a lot of times when I think that I should just get it over with and not write. To be honest, I feel that writing has lost a lot of the spark it used to carry. Maybe I've just not read the right books lately; though this doesn't seem to be the case as I do still love reading a whole lot.
Most of the things I write today, to me, seem to be a lot... boring. Like they've not been cared for a whole lot. They look terribly drab and uninspired. It's just not the same anymore.
But then there are these days when you get the feeling that writing is the only thing you live for. I experienced those a couple of times during NaNo, and during the times when I'd pop in a fill for anon memes. Perhaps reading fanfiction has begun to take its toll. Maybe I've lost one of the most important things for a writer: a thing which I can call my own.
Certainly, you can't say that something's original anymore, but you'd think that some things feel fresh or as if they've been written in such a different way that it, at the same time, feels like some other plot or idea and yet not.
I don't think I've managed to tap into that freshness factor these days, what with writing that seems to be duller and duller by the day.
Normally, I'd say that I'd have to rectify this as soon as possible and then things'll be alright in a day or two. This might be the case for now, but I suspect that I won't be able to get back on my feet in the near future. I mean, there'll come a day when I won't be able to writing anything fictional in nature. Maybe the me of yesterday will scoff and cringe at the thought of not writing, but the me of today sees this sort of event having a probability of occurring.
... Or maybe I could start writing that highly biased autobiography of mine.
But then, when you read it all again after a few pages or so, you seem to think, "Hey, this looks like crap," and then you save this copy and make another copy of it, but with different words and, sometimes, totally different settings or beginnings, but with the same idea and characters in mind.
The thing is, the repetition of this whole process -- thinking, writing, reading, scrapping; rinse, gargle, and spit and all of that -- is beginning to get to me. Beginning to get to me meaning that I'm nearly at the end of my tether and am about to throw myself off a two-story building if throwing myself off a building will help me make up my mind about the story.
I like writing, really, but there are a lot of times when I think that I should just get it over with and not write. To be honest, I feel that writing has lost a lot of the spark it used to carry. Maybe I've just not read the right books lately; though this doesn't seem to be the case as I do still love reading a whole lot.
Most of the things I write today, to me, seem to be a lot... boring. Like they've not been cared for a whole lot. They look terribly drab and uninspired. It's just not the same anymore.
But then there are these days when you get the feeling that writing is the only thing you live for. I experienced those a couple of times during NaNo, and during the times when I'd pop in a fill for anon memes. Perhaps reading fanfiction has begun to take its toll. Maybe I've lost one of the most important things for a writer: a thing which I can call my own.
Certainly, you can't say that something's original anymore, but you'd think that some things feel fresh or as if they've been written in such a different way that it, at the same time, feels like some other plot or idea and yet not.
I don't think I've managed to tap into that freshness factor these days, what with writing that seems to be duller and duller by the day.
Normally, I'd say that I'd have to rectify this as soon as possible and then things'll be alright in a day or two. This might be the case for now, but I suspect that I won't be able to get back on my feet in the near future. I mean, there'll come a day when I won't be able to writing anything fictional in nature. Maybe the me of yesterday will scoff and cringe at the thought of not writing, but the me of today sees this sort of event having a probability of occurring.
... Or maybe I could start writing that highly biased autobiography of mine.