I try to write, try to work on stories that I started in the past and never finished, or try to start in with working on new ideas, but something always stops me. It's this darkness within me, this void. It sucks away my desire to create; or my desire is there, but I'm convinced that I won't be able to create well, so I give up. The obstacles are too insurmountable; I just don't have the ability.
But whenever I go back and read the stuff that I've written before, I allways really enjoy it (my fiction, that is, not my papers for school. Those always make me cringe). If only I could finish something, follow that inspiration until it leads to the end, instead of changing my mind half-way down the road, convincing myself that the journey is not worth the taking, that the town I'll end up in is a shitty little rat-hole that I'll regret coming to.
I was talking to The Talker last night, and he told me that he had spent all weekend working on his game, the game that he created, and is in the eternal process of expanding, and which is well loved by a good-number of people with a little bit of disposable income. He got, he said, a year's worth of work done this weekend. He doesn't get writers block, he said, he just decides ahead of time when he's going to work, and then he does it.
I really envy him that. The only time I can remember feeling that way was a few months ago, when I took some over-the-counter daytime cold medications that had strange stimulants in it. I took them for two days in a row, and I wrote two shorts stories during that time, both completed. Both of them were pornographic. I went back and read them, and neither of them really turned me on so much, but one of them amused the hell out of me. The feeling that I had when I was writing them was this driving need to get to the end, to make what I had in my mind come out complete on to the paper. I really enjoyed it (though my hand did hurt from all the furious scribling with my pencil). I wish I could get that feeling back, without taking drugs. I wish that that was just what I was like in my day-to-day life.
But whenever I go back and read the stuff that I've written before, I allways really enjoy it (my fiction, that is, not my papers for school. Those always make me cringe). If only I could finish something, follow that inspiration until it leads to the end, instead of changing my mind half-way down the road, convincing myself that the journey is not worth the taking, that the town I'll end up in is a shitty little rat-hole that I'll regret coming to.
I was talking to The Talker last night, and he told me that he had spent all weekend working on his game, the game that he created, and is in the eternal process of expanding, and which is well loved by a good-number of people with a little bit of disposable income. He got, he said, a year's worth of work done this weekend. He doesn't get writers block, he said, he just decides ahead of time when he's going to work, and then he does it.
I really envy him that. The only time I can remember feeling that way was a few months ago, when I took some over-the-counter daytime cold medications that had strange stimulants in it. I took them for two days in a row, and I wrote two shorts stories during that time, both completed. Both of them were pornographic. I went back and read them, and neither of them really turned me on so much, but one of them amused the hell out of me. The feeling that I had when I was writing them was this driving need to get to the end, to make what I had in my mind come out complete on to the paper. I really enjoyed it (though my hand did hurt from all the furious scribling with my pencil). I wish I could get that feeling back, without taking drugs. I wish that that was just what I was like in my day-to-day life.
posted by nearfalse | 6:22 PM
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