For a writer, I sure do have a lot of discussions about the practice of it. It's approaching the one-to-one ratio, and that's no good. I don't want to cut back on the talking, so I should pump up the writing. DO instead of over-thinking. But, with more writing and less talking about it, where will I get ideas to blog?
Where I get the rest of my ideas: an albino leprechaun's pocket.
... I fear I've said too much. I hope the Brotherhood Alliance of Writers doesn't come after me for that one.
So I was talking with my cousin Corey (also a writer) today, and we were talking about self doubt and confidence in regards to writing.
When I'm writing, never once do I feel like I'm writing anything groundbreaking or up to professional par. In fact, it's a struggle to keep myself from quitting because I think I'm being So Lame. The same goes for reading it when it's finished: where I then proceed to edit the ever-loving-shit out of what I just slaved over. I was thinking about this earlier today, and brought it up to Corey. I'm happy to report that he at least has some idea of what I'm talking about. Then it hit me:
It's like hearing your own voice recorded, or seeing yourself in video. Something just sounds and looks weird about it, because we're all cooped up inside our own heads. Same with ideas and creativity. I get weirded out and really critical about what decides to push open the revolving door of my brain and forcibly conquer the page in front of me. It's unsettling, to say the least.
But then Corey mentioned his love for writing, about how he just really wanted to do it, because he loved it so much. The same goes for me. But that's only a portion of the reason why we write. Among other reasons, I write because I have a love/hate relationship with this gut feeling I get when I finally decide to say, "To Hell with this!" and pass it along to someone else to read. That horribly amazing queasy feeling of not knowing whether or not they're going to like it, and the finality of it being NOT YOURS ANYMORE is like crack and horse tranquilizer to me.
The reader, the audience, takes whatever they want or need from it, regardless of what I intend. I just hope they like it, are moved or entertained by it, read it the whole way through and just maybe realize that I loved that little freakin' baby up until I printed it's ass off. For the most part. Sometimes that baby gave me hell and just wouldn't shut up.
Writing is just an awkward, beautiful, thing that I can not stop myself from doing.
I've got 3 projects going right now, 2 that are on a deadline (kind of, one for sure.) The script I'm working on at the moment NEEDS to be worked on, and I plan on doing so this evening.
Not only that but I have about three other projects that people have given me to read and look over. I feel like such a douche for not reading them immediately, but things come up and I have to be in a mood for certain genre. My apologies to them, they will get done.
HOW I SOUND = NOT HOW I THINK I DO. OR SOMETHING.
EDIT: Upon screwing around, I ended up following my own blog over there ->
I'm not that self centered. I can't figure out how to undo it or block myself from looking stupid.
The writer who never wrote
ReplyDeleteA writer was waiting for a story. He waited and waited. While he waited he contemplated how much he despised waiting around. After a while a story walked up. The man was so excited. He began thinking about how he would tell the story. He couldn’t decide. There were so many good ways to tell it. While trying to decide he contemplated how difficult it was to have to decide. Why couldn't he just be inspired? So he waited for inspiration. While he waited he contemplated how much more infuriatingly frustrating it was to wait while indecisive and uninspired than it was to wait for a story. Waiting with something to lose is always worse than waiting with nothing to lose. After an intolerable span inspiration peeked out from behind the corner. Finally! Inspiration had arrived. The man turned around hastily to handle introductions. He was eager to get started. But the story was gone. Now he had inspiration but no story. He threw up his hands in desperation. "You see now?! This is why I never write."
http://thursdaycitynews.blogspot.com/2009/05/writer-who-never-wrote.html