Wednesday, 6 August 2008


Since I'm on holidays, here is a post from my old livejournal, dated June 8, 2007. For some background, I used to write stories, starting when I was 8 years old. Everyone who knows me has heard me say that I want to be a writer. At this point in my life, I'm not sure what I want to be.
Several people have asked me recently how my writing is going. The only answer I have is "It's not". It's rather embarrassing, since I used to write all the time, and when I was I kid, I was forever telling people that I was going to be a famous writer, and setting deadlines for myself for when I wanted to have a book published. But why don't I write anymore? I'm not 100% certain about that. I think there are several reasons (no particular order): 1. I am no longer bored. The reason I started writing stories when I was about 8 years old was because I was bored, and didn't have access to very many new books. I wrote what I wanted to read. I never ever finished any writing until I was in high school. I always thought that was because I had too many ideas, but it was probably just because I lost interest in the original idea. 2. I grew up. I now have a quite wide variety of interests, as well as access to the city's library, and enough budget leeway that I can occasionally buy a new book if I want to. I also don't read as much now. 3. I am afraid. I don't know if my writing is any good. My highschool English teacher liked it, but other than her, I've had no professional critique. I don't think I know how to carry a plot. The one good (I think) story I ever completed doesn't have a plot...It's really just a series of images. I think I have written a lot of decent opening paragraphs...but then the idea fizzles and I can't bring back the excitement I had when I first got the idea. I have one half-finished story that still has promise, and I have no excuse for not finishing it yet except for fear. 4. I feel creatively stifled. The past 5 years have been spent earning money while my husband completes his degree. I feel like the daily monotony has slowly sapped my creativity. I find it hard to believe that I have spent nearly half a decade accomplishing nothing. This is completely my own fault. I know that I cannot improve my writing unless I write. And writing inspires creativity. But all I have done is work, eat, sleep, work, etc. Most days I really feel like I cannot bear another second in front of the computer, after already working for 8 hours (and I'm not very good at writing in an organised manner when I'm composing on those who have received my letters can attest). I do my best to ignore the self-reproaching sting that I feel whenever the subject is raised. Maybe I'll get back into writing. Maybe I won't. If I don't, I will probably always feel like everyone I know sees me as a failure. Of course, that thought probably doesn't even occurr to them. It is rather nice that my friends care to inquire about my interests and hobbies. These are just some things I have been contemplating in answer to those who ask about my writing. Sorry for such a melancholy post...perhaps the next one will be more cheerful!

1 comment:

Note: only a member of this blog may post a comment.