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hawkwing_lbAn odd thing, writing.
Sometimes - like now, for example - I can't see how I'll ever be any good at it, much less do myself any good by continuing to try. The odds, after all, are stacked fairly heavily against any would-be author, and I am not precisely renowned for my amazing successes. Nor, indeed, for my stamina in any particular enterprise.
But I was talking about writing.
Whenever I find myself about to quit - to give up entirely on the damn thing - I find myself lured back. Undeniably, and rather inescapably.
But see, there's a problem with that. I was having a little look at the things I want from my life right now -
my degree: college, hours of study
money: a job, hours of work
karate: if I ever want to improve, or even regain my old standards, that's four or five hours a week at least in training
my fitness: another four or five hours a week in the gym to build any sort of aerobic stamina, barely counting an upper-body workout
- and there doesn't seem to be a lot of room left on the agenda for another serious pasttime*.
Writing, in the past, has always been one of my 'serious' pasttimes, but if I'm not to drive myself crazy, I need to let it be recreational. Fun. No goals, no deadlines, no pressure. I will be as satisfied with 5 words as 500.
*resolution*
---
The latest odd thing about writing - mine, at any rate - is that I seem to be growing more aware of the presence of a narrator. Not a character, and not me - just an extra filter there, between me and the characters, between me and the created world. And thus, I'm starting to examine - evaluate, perhaps, is the better word - every word - each phrase - in terms of that filter of perception.
Progress, of a sort? I don't know. I do feel rather hopeless about the whole thing right now. Even though I received the most complimentary rejection possible, this evening, it's still a rejection, and although I can - sometimes - see what I'm doing wrong, I don't know how to put it right. Or more right, at least. I feel as though I'm groping about in the dark, trying to figure anything out, and that's not an enjoyable feeling.
---
*My 'serious' pasttimes tend to get taken so seriously they no longer qualify as 'fun'. This has proven to be a seriously unhealthy trend, when taken too far.
Sometimes - like now, for example - I can't see how I'll ever be any good at it, much less do myself any good by continuing to try. The odds, after all, are stacked fairly heavily against any would-be author, and I am not precisely renowned for my amazing successes. Nor, indeed, for my stamina in any particular enterprise.
But I was talking about writing.
Whenever I find myself about to quit - to give up entirely on the damn thing - I find myself lured back. Undeniably, and rather inescapably.
But see, there's a problem with that. I was having a little look at the things I want from my life right now -
my degree: college, hours of study
money: a job, hours of work
karate: if I ever want to improve, or even regain my old standards, that's four or five hours a week at least in training
my fitness: another four or five hours a week in the gym to build any sort of aerobic stamina, barely counting an upper-body workout
- and there doesn't seem to be a lot of room left on the agenda for another serious pasttime*.
Writing, in the past, has always been one of my 'serious' pasttimes, but if I'm not to drive myself crazy, I need to let it be recreational. Fun. No goals, no deadlines, no pressure. I will be as satisfied with 5 words as 500.
*resolution*
---
The latest odd thing about writing - mine, at any rate - is that I seem to be growing more aware of the presence of a narrator. Not a character, and not me - just an extra filter there, between me and the characters, between me and the created world. And thus, I'm starting to examine - evaluate, perhaps, is the better word - every word - each phrase - in terms of that filter of perception.
Progress, of a sort? I don't know. I do feel rather hopeless about the whole thing right now. Even though I received the most complimentary rejection possible, this evening, it's still a rejection, and although I can - sometimes - see what I'm doing wrong, I don't know how to put it right. Or more right, at least. I feel as though I'm groping about in the dark, trying to figure anything out, and that's not an enjoyable feeling.
---
*My 'serious' pasttimes tend to get taken so seriously they no longer qualify as 'fun'. This has proven to be a seriously unhealthy trend, when taken too far.
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no subject
Date: 2006-12-18 04:53 am (UTC)I hope you can clear some time for writing. The story of yours I read was one of the three stories I liked when I last had a chance to look up stuff for OWW. It was one of the ones that, beyond being an exercise in reading and editing, was enjoyable.
no subject
Date: 2006-12-18 05:03 pm (UTC)Nice compliment, thank you. I'm picking up very encouraging rejections on that story, btw - along the lines of 'it's all very good, but why didn't something actually happen?'
The learning curve grows ever steeper. :)
no subject
Date: 2006-12-18 04:49 pm (UTC)I think sometimes writing is supposed to be difficult and the trick is finding a way to make it difficult and enjoyable (for me, defined as being productive and wanting to return to the task at a later time - if I'm dreading working on it, something's wrong). Plenty of times I've made myself stop writing when the kitchen timer goes off - no matter what brilliant thought I believed myself to be finally nailing down. Somehow having to return to it later makes writing the next piece more enjoyable and the result better written than the first rush of adrenalin would have produced.
no subject
Date: 2006-12-18 05:14 pm (UTC)I'm not really a Nightwish fan - Wanderlust and a couple of others are the only tracks of theirs I can actually stand to listen to. I suspect my music tastes qualify in the 'odd and eclectic' category. :)
Writing's always been enjoyable for me - I mean, sometimes it drives me up the bloody walls, but it's always enjoyable. Except, of course, when I try to do to much and drive myself into nervous wreckdom.
I'm not going there again. :)