Writers, like all artists, are egotistical. In the good sense of the word, because this characteristic makes you work harder on getting better.
However, on the other end of writers’ emotional processes is the feeling of intimidation. There’s always someone far greater than yourself, who’s raising the standards to an impossible level.
So, you’re moving from a territory of being completely intimidated, paralyzed with fear, to Herculean efforts to push through, and you enjoy occasional moments of bliss and satisfaction with your work.
This is hard and exhausting, but also necessary. Artistic turmoil is the precondition for potentially creating valuable work. Worrying about being unique in your work is the very first step towards eventually getting there. Intention and motivation are crucial in the process.
Photo by John O'Nolan
Anyhow, in moments of desperation it’s easy to forget all this and surrender to hopelessness. You may ask yourself how to get where you want and are you capable of ever reaching there.
There are a few points that may help and guide you in those times:
Your Thoughts Are Exclusive
Not everything is being said. You are you and your thoughts are exclusive. They matter. The way you string words together and verbalize thoughts is already unique. You lose by trying to be someone else. Be yourself instead. Write what you think deep inside without any fear and you’ll get your reader for sure. The power of words doesn’t lie in technical perfection, but in your radiating passion.
Read Only The Best
You are what you read. Instead of wasting your time with mediocre literature, choose only the best. Reading has a huge influence on your writing. If you devote yourself only to the masters, the bigger the chance to eventually master your own work. Challenge the greats. It’s not cocky. Think of it as work-essential.
Trust Your Gut
When insecure, trust your gut. There’s never a universal right or wrong in writing, so if your instincts are telling you to go one way, do it. No matter how illogical it may seem, silly or funny, obviously your being is screaming for it and you may as well go for it. It doesn’t need to ring a bell with others. It does with you and that’s how you get unique – by being you and true to yourself.
Be Experimental
Only by trying various methods can you find what ‘clicks’ with you. If you’re stuck with a genre, an ending, a scene or a place, just because you’ve convinced yourself that it’s the right way for you, let it go. Dare to be crazy. Write a novella in verse, an abrupt ending; skip the beginning or whatever crazy thing comes to your mind. Sometimes the experiment is the key.
PRACTICE
For fifteen minutes write about the preoccupying thoughts you have today. It doesn’t matter whether it’s mundane, banal, pointless; your job is to translate those exclusive thoughts on the screen and give them life. When you’re finished, post it in the comments.
As usual, be supportive and give feedback to others’ practices.
I bit my lower lip and my eyes got sad. The begged for sweet release, but the tears wouldn’t come. All they’d do is tease.
–
I’ve been feeling like this for awhile now: Inadequate. Overwhelmed, too. People keep telling me what the right thing to do with my life is, and all I can think in my head is “How do you know what’s right for me?”
Even my parents think my wanting to write is stupid. They think I’ll never make it. There hasn’t been a conversation about it yet that hasn’t led to depressing statistics, and demeaning lectures that make me uncomfortable.
Whenever I think of my future, I can’t help but get that tight feeling in my face because I know that, at the end of the day, I’ll believe my oppressors. I’ll believe them when they say I’ll never reach my dreams. Won’t even get close.
Great practice! You made it easy to put myself in your place and feel the same pain. I find that when conveying strong emotions like these, short sentences and basic words are often more powerful.
Thank you much!
So many voices in our heads telling us who we are and what we can do! I can relate to this. Love the first sentence.
Haha, always! Thank you. ^.^
I like the detail “tightness in my face.” Personally, I think parents, instead of discouraging their kids from following artistic dreams, should prepare their kids for the idea that most artists have a day job. And there’s nothing wrong with that. Tolkein had a day job. And it was not writing.
Very true. I definitely agree.
Here’s my practice:
What will happen if I get caught? I couldn’t bear to see their faces if that should be the case. Nobody loves me as much as mother and father, and nobody else would be more disappointed. I don’t even want to remember how I felt last time. When I am the one who is speechless, something has gone terribly wrong. In novels there always seems to be rain pattering against the window panes while the liar becomes the victim as a case is laid before them. But it was sunny that day, leaving me no escape, and I was forced to face my judges, whose eyes were wrought with something I had never seen before. Something mingling dire disappointment with a heartache that welled in their eyes and their throats.
I wont let it happen again.
This time I will make it clean myself. I’m older now, and they shouldn’t have to sweep my mistakes under the rug. As much as it hurts, it is up to me to rectify the mistake. Because nothing is more painful than lack of trust amongst the ones you love.
I love this. The opening line caught my attention and kept it throughout your piece. I like that there seems to a well developed moment before. Like when you say “This time I will make it clean myself.” That made me feel connected to you immediately. I hope that made sense? Good job!
Rain is an escape. I wonder why? I like that sunny is the prison. It makes perfect contrary sense.
Time is passing
On the fourth Sunday of
June, every year, a family gathers to share a meal, memories, and present life
happenings. This has been a tradition
for the past ninety-two years!
I have been honored to be a
part of this event for the past fifty-two years. Over the years my feelings about the event
has swayed from sheer delight to dread and all possibilities in between.
As a child it was a huge
event! Three generations of women would
cook all day on Saturday in preparation for the Sunday meal. While the men would ensure the building was
free of wasp, and other creatures that may have taken up residents in the old
VFW Hall. They would also, ice down
massive amounts of soft drinks and it was all you could drink without permission!!!! Pictures were taken with cousins you haven’t
seen in a year and possibly would not see again until next year. (But it seemed that you new each other.)
As years passed and the venue
changed, generations age and pass the younger take their place as cooks and
organizers. Some things remain the
same. Still icing the drinks, taking
pictures, sharing memories and dreams.
This year’s reunion held
its tradition, but also a new perspective.
My father’s generation has assumed the lead, as the oldest generation. We are now back to only four generations,
were we have been five.
Time is passing….
I always love refrain in writing. Nicely done!
Rules of the grammar.
My Lithuanian-English dictionary presents a word ‚practice‘ as a noun and gives seven meanings of the word. The list of definitions ends with a note that the practice in American English should be written as a „practise“ and understood as a verb.
The Noun versus Verb. The verb cannot exist without a noun as noun without a verb should look meaningless too.
Likewise I would be helpless without a dictionary. So the real freedom is the experiential feature.
I took a year off to get away from university, to discover the world, to learn something about myself, to cross something off my list of careers, to work in a kitchen and to see if I really want to own my own little cafe.
And I worked. I prepped vegetables, designed the specials, assembled dishes. I miss that world, every single time I sit inside a cafe and drink coffee, I remind myself of what I am missing out on. The simplicity of life being all about food, the bliss that came with smelling fresh baked bread and confit garlic in the morning, the roar of the range hoods and the frontal heat that radiated out of the ovens and stoves… all of that has gone. Do I want to be here? Do I want to be a musician. Why am I in music school?
I sipped my coffee this morning and stared into the latte art. The barista was skilled, the was able to execute the leaf in such a way that it looked like I was drinking something out of a coffee advertisement. I sipped my coffee and noted that it was unusually bitter, that it had earthy overtones, it was bold but clean. It was not the fault of the barista, it was the fault of the bean, maybe this bean suits the palate of a Japanese person – the whole entire cafe was Japan. For me, I prefer my coffee to be creamy, with soft hints of vanilla and chocolate.
And I realised how much of a snob I have become… how much I have been brainwashed by culinary school, by all those wine tasting trips, by all those barista course. My piano teacher once told me that people who waffle on about coffee or alcohol as an art are really just making an excuse for something that was simply a drug, an addiction – that 99% of the population that consumed coffee or alcohol did so out of addiction, not art.
I disagree – It’s not that much different to music. We consume music for the same reason we consume alcohol and coffee – it’s an art just as much as it is an addiction. We need music. Without it we go insane… and the same goes for coffee.
I wonder what I can’t live without – food or music? If I had to give one up which would would I give up? Being in the music world makes me miss the hustle of the kitchen but when I worked in the kitchen for six hours on end, all I longed for was some nice juicy piece of Chopin on my piano to be practiced.
I really like this practice, I ‘thought’ it really brought the ‘thoughts’ to life! Great expansion (that’s what I really wanted to say)
Thanks all for the comments, I read back on it and think that it needs some tidying – should have edited and worked on phrasing, thanks for the feedback though!
It is ‘practice’ though!
great job, Rebecca. I LOVED your passion for food and do not think you are a snob one bit – the coffee paragraph made me want to do a Starbucks run…
Sometimes it does us good to move out of our comfort zones. I try it regularly and always discover something I can do without. So far I’ve stayed with coffee. That will be until I discover something else I can use as a crutch.
Love it Rebecca. The passion pours out of you.
I have an ego like everyone else: I think I am smart, funny, insightful and good at many things. I have very strong opinions that I am only too happy to express, but I can admit when I’m wrong and I can apologize for being an unmitigated ass if need be (And trust me there’s been some need). Many of my ideas are brilliant, but some of them really stink and I can concede that. But enough about me for this paragraph. I would now like to talk about another sort of person that’s been on my mind.
Megalomaniacs are not nice people. They are egomaniacs on steroids. They are people who do not play by the rules of equality and fairness and must at all times be in a position of power and control. Ironically, they are not generally the smartest bulbs in the pack and they are often woefully insecure. Their only hope at world domination is to make you and me feel we are less than. They cannot admit when they are wrong, for to do so would weaken their position of omnipotence. They are shiny light stealers, attention gobblers, and all roads must lead back to them. So, I would like to ask the Universe: “Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, why must you always send a megalomaniac into mine”? Do I have a sign on my forehead saying “Please talk down to me”? Am I releasing a pheromone that makes them want to squelch my efforts with Alpha dog moves? Well, I’ve had it. Bring it on, megalomaniac. I will no longer dim my light for you. Go have your little tantrum like Rumpelstiltskin losing the name game. Go back in your Wizard of Oz booth and use your microphone to sound like more than the little man you are. I’ve got things to do.
Mmm… I sympathise… Love the last two lines…
I appreciate your transparency in the first paragraph. I can also appreciate your feelings about megalomaniacs. I am envisioning the scene from “Network” where Howard Beale yells out, “I’m mad as hell and I’m not going to take it anymore!”
Tell it!
You are so right to shine. Speak up and never dim your light for those who are forever casting shadows.
Right back atcha, my friend. We can do this!
Something I’ve heard often, springs to mind: extroverts are over-achievers (stands to reason, doesn’t it?), while introverts are under-achievers. Are you one of the latter, always being overwhelmed by those noisy extros?
I am both of these things! For some reason this brings to mind the movie line, “I know you can be overwhelmed, and I know you can be underwhelmed, but can you just be whelmed?” Using this as my dubious logic, I would then be simply an achiever, and by extension, a vert. But yes, I have been overwhelmed a lot in the past. I am ready to let go of labels, use what I’ve got in spades, and work with my perceived weaknesses (which may in the end be my strengths). Wow, that last sentence is like a mission statement! Thank you so much for helping me think on this, Winnie.
Love it. Definitely like a mission statement. 🙂
You’re welcome. I always tell myself nobody is ever absolutely right.
High blood pressure. That’s what the doctor says, I on the other hand have low blood pressure. I imagined we needed some kind of valve between us to level it out. Yup. That would sort it out. No more drugs just a gentle balance and equilibrium. The nurse reckons he’s now developed a new symptom… he has a low platelet count. That’ll be the valve. We can’t get everything right at first.
Lovely compassion: “I imagined we needed some kind of valve between us to level it out.”
Depends on who controls the valve!! (evil snigger! 🙂
This was funny I loved it!
Thanks. 🙂
I love how you and your husband are in it together, both the highs and the lows. You seem to be each other’s complements.
🙂
Oh, dear.
LOL! I love your responses to my posts!
So fun! 🙂
I have this friend I’ve known since high school. He and his wife have been a part of a special group of friends that have been together since the carefree days of our church youth group. Over the past 30-plus years we have rung in numerous New Years Eves together, over-indulged at dinner parties, and celebrated our kids’ graduations and weddings, you know, the good life stuff.
Having lived in the same house for almost three decades, my friends finally began the process of building their empty-nest dream home, a house where they could entertain their friends and expanding family. This spring they celebrated the arrival of their first grandchild.
Last week he left work early, drove to a nearby bridge and jumped off to his death. No one knows why. No answers, only questions. His 56-year-young widow has no clue as to why he would take his life in such a dramatic way. He left no note, no phone messages or texts, only a grieving family on an inconsolable search for answers.
This really packs a punch.
Gulp!
Joseph, is this truth or fiction? If it’s true, I’m so sorry for your loss. There is so much more than we see. 🙁
Yes, this is true. A very sad week. There is definitely more under the surface that no one sees. That’s why we need safe, intimate relationships where we can get honest.
I’m sorry to hear that, and I agree.
Joseph, I am so sorry for the loss of your friend and for the grief you feel as you try to navigate this painful time. Suicide is a symptom of an illness that sadly infects all those left behind. Your friend must have been in pain for a very long time to have made this choice…praying comfort for his wife and family. And for you…
This really makes me think that there is so much we can never know about other people even when we know them for a long time. We are so separate in our busy lives. Just makes me shake my head and sigh.
So sorry about your loss Joseph, and thank you for sharing it with us. Any loss is difficult, but a suicide asks even more questions I guess.
I am convinced there’s something here.
Are we like the alchemists, substituting ritual for understanding, or is there something irreducible about the old ways that we have not acknowledged?
I am deeply troubled by the divide between intuition and reason. It seems like, given enough data, reason should always be able to get us the right answer. But reason often goes awry. Data is incomplete. Algorithms omitted a critical variable. The answer came out wrong, and the crazy hick was right all along. When it comes to logic, it’s really hard to choose the right data. That’s where intuition comes in. It gives us the big picture. Does that mean intuition is only good as a reality check? Like estimating in arithmetic? Is it a second-rate foggy sense that’s only useful as a blunt instrument when our senses lack the finesse to wrangle clear meaning from the universe? Is it not a sense at all, merely incomplete logic? I don’t want to believe that. I’ve been fooled by pure logic untempered by feeling too many times, but I can’t put my finger on a rational justification for intuition. It’s a paradox.
Maybe… I intuit that your responses to my posts from now on are going to be two words seperated by a comma… Or that just guessing?…
I really like your musings here! This is not how I think at all and that makes it interesting for me to read.
striped sweater, this is great! “I’ve been fooled by pure logic untempered by feeling too many times” is quotable! Such a cool post…loved it.
I like your line of questioning. I believe intuition is there to get you started, without it we would just be waiting for logic to kick in. How boring would that be?
Yes, but what is intuition? 🙂
It is the feeling you get before thought kicks in. All thinking is based in feelings. People feel before they think then use thought to create connections to round out the story of their lives. We are great storytellers, but the world doesn’t work like stories. It is a complex chaos of patterns beyond our normal logical figuring so we feel our way through and fill in the gaps with logical connections that may or may not actually exist, thus stories and life history. Intuition is the feeling before the figuring.
Is it made of the same stuff as logic? Or is it the presupposed assumptions that precede logic? Does it come from the same place of knowing, or is it above the facts?
The blog went dark when the spoken word took over.
The spoken word went silent when my anger went viral.
I was overcome with rage. Ugly images blotting out my pages.
These words weren’t play and they certainly didn’t pay.
I was slain by self-indulgence.
Got high off my own supply and left righteousness to flounder.
I let the fear of failure revolve me to the point
Where I couldn’t write the songs I’m holding,
Close to my chest, there’s a spark.
A fighting chance against this inner dark.
I can’t let these feelings overwhelm and expel me
From the sanctuary of truth and self-expression.
I’ve been resting, I say.
Letting the words build up so that one day
I can unleash them and kiss each of them on the head as they pass.
Turning blank pages into a blast of inspiration.
But truth doesn’t work that way, it’s fluid.
Have to keep writing the moment or I risk losing the right moment,
To finally say what is on my plate.
To finally clear the field and make it rain.
I’ve got no reason to reach back into the past.
To bring up those demons that seek my hand.
Those hounds that bite when I feed them souls.
Those killers of laughter, mistaken for wolves.
So the blog went silent when the spoken word spoke up.
And the spoken word turned to ash, when he set fire to my cup.
But it isn’t over.
I’ve got love on my side.
No, there is another who walks these skies.
Brings me heat from our yellow star.
Lights me up with his boyish charms.
Brings remembering back to its roots.
I am an earth treader with many routes.
I am an explorer of bountiful rooms.
There is no way the word is silenced.
This world is too full of wonder and still too full of violence.
I’ve got it beat beating and weighing on my heart.
And I’m going to get it out through rhythm and verse.
There is no way I’m done with writing.
I’ve only just begun, and a delay is not a finale.
I will sing again and bring words that ring again.
No reason to despair and cling to the end.
You will hear me when my heart explodes,
Except this supernova won’t leave a black hole.
Only the darkness with get pulled away.
Leaving light and life and matter to seal the day.
I can’t hang up these lips until you see your worth.
Until the games of evil men are laid bare,
And their strategems unwound.
They will not see me coming with my garden hoe and trowel,
I’m going to mow them down,
And their refuse will feed the ground.
We’re going to grow up on top of them.
Turn their bile to our uses.
Step up onto higher ground
Build up, without tearing down.
Civilization always buries the dead underground.
We are the inheritors of the earth,
Let’s make her proud.
For the last decade, I’ve been consumed with purpose, with finding that elusive goal. I tell myself “I’ll be content and successful when I’m an established (fill in the blank with a type of artist)”. It’s all been about reaching that end goal. I’ve convinced myself that everything for me will begin at that point, and that people are happy when they reach that spot.
It seems ridiculous but I’ve only just started thinking about how crazy that is. And I’ve really started thinking about the journey and what I’ve accomplished along the way.
In the last six months, I’ve started a writers’ group here in this tiny town. Because of it, one woman has filled a binder with a book she’s writing.
In the last six months, I’ve started singing at church. They haven’t had a song leader in years and, whether or not I’m good, I’m contributing.
In the last six months, I’ve written blog posts and videos and countless pages.
I don’t say that stuff to brag. In fact, I used to consider those things as means to an end. Nothing more. But, in the last couple weeks, I’m forced to ask myself some important questions:
I’ve put so much stock into finding that elusive success. But, what if, when I die in 1 or 5 or 50 years, I never reach that end goal? What if I’m not a successful (fill in the blank with a type of artist)?
But what if, along the way, that woman publishes her book? Or the church
forms a choir? Or my book inspires two people?
If that happens, can I really consider myself a failure, even if I’m not a successful (fill in the blank with a type of artist)?
Such thoughts are starting to make me appreciate the journey.
love this, Newbie – you are right! It IS the journey. Always, always, always…”successful” is subjective. Everyone has a different definition for it and my experience is that those who make it the goal, often miss singing at church.
Thoughts that are preoccupying? Okay:
Why do so many hate the poor adverb? It exists for a reason, right? I don’t get the level of hate folks have for it. And, how does using it show you’re a terrible writer? I mean, folks usually say Terry Prattchett is a great writer & he uses them! Hell, he even makes up words so he can turn them into adverbs. If he can use them and be called a good writer, why can’t I?
Also, I share my hopes and dreams for the future with this young woman who says she loves me, but she does not. Does this mean that, like the other females in my past, she doesn’t see a future with me? If so, why not simply tell me? The suspense is killing me. I’ve asked her, but she simply says she’s scared. I ask her how can I reassure her, but she merely responds with, “I don’t know.” What am I doing wrong?
Last thing. The morons in the US Government say it’s hard to balance the budget and get our nation out of debt. No it isn’t. Stop spending billions for a single jet, stop lining your own pockets with tax payer money, stop blowing millions investigating sports (it’s why they have commissioner’s, dumbasses), bring our military from Iraq & Afghanistan. Do NOT get involved with Syria. Hell, if you’re so worried about the religious idiots in the Middle East, nuke them.
don’t know if this is fiction or real R.W, but I love your train of thoughts here – feels so honest in how our minds skip all over the place. From adverbs (ask Stephen King, he’s the one who started this!) to the love in your life (maybe she really is just scared and it’s not about you!) to, ummmm….US gov’t. (since I’m a Canadian, I can’t comment on that) Anyways, this reads like such an authentic post for preoccupying thoughts, bravo!
At the time, those thoughts were the only PG things in my head, lol. I was visualizing a torture scene for a novel, and flashing over to a child abduction for another. Eesh!
Stephen King? My hero, and nemesis…
Not just love in my life: Love of my life!
You could probably comment about the same as me, if not better, not being so close to the problem. Forest & trees, and all that…
Re: the adverb: I read a few writing articles that suggested using more action verbs and minimizing adverbs and adjectives to (supposedly) give more “energy” or “life” to the article. I’m giving that a try for a change to see how it works for me.
Re: woman scared: how about asking her what’s honestly and specifically scaring her? Give examples, maybe.
Re: U.S. government: I suggest the serenity prayer. 🙂
re the adverb: I like them. They’re sweet and innocent, but… I’ve given into peer pressure, and am going through my manuscript an butchering each of the little guys. (sob)
re woman: She won’t go any further than that. So, I said, “I’ll wait until you’re ready to tell me. I love and trust you.” Still, the exercise was to write about our thoughts…
re gov’t: Nah. That’s not satisfying. If things don’t work out with my love, I’m gonna leap into politics. Why wait, you ask? Simple: She lives in Florida & I’m in Maryland. Local laws and all that.
I always wanted to be the BEST at something. The best tennis player on the
team, the best dancer at the party. The best daughter, wife, mother, cook,
decorator and friend. And I tried really hard to wear those crowns. I also
always wanted to be Barbra Streisand. OK. Confession. The only time I tried to
be Barbara Streisand was in front of my bathroom mirror when I belted out “People” with my
hair dryer microphone. But I tried being the best friend a lot. In fact, I’m
sure I’ve had more best friends than anyone I know. It felt very high school for
a woman in her forties to even want a best friend and I was always aware of
that, but it didn’t stop the yearning. Or the need for that kind of commitment
from one special friend who would back me till my nose bled when things got
tough.
Just before my fiftieth birthday, I was out with a bunch of women who began
a conversation by asking each other “who is the BEST at?” No matter what they
asked, no one stood up and said “I am”. No one claimed “I’m the best cook. Or,
I’m the best dancer.” Instead they blew raspberries with each question and
harrumphed “definitely not me!” I was floored. I’d thought everyone wanted to
be the best at something, that it was in our DNA to want to lay claim to a title
or wear the banner. So I asked them. “Haven’t you ever wanted to be the best
at something?’” There were a lot of shrugs and a few agreed they had never
thought about it. But one woman said “Yes.” She added. “ And, I AM the best.” I
couldn’t imagine what secrets she had and my mind raced through all the data it
had about her. Tennis? Nope. Skater? Nah. Gardner? Maybe. I’d heard she had a
rose garden the Brits would envy. While I was rummaging through my brain files
on everything I knew about her, she turned to me and smiled. “I’m the BEST at
being me.”
And this is a very long post to tell you why I continue writing…I do it
because I love words and stories and even though I will never be the best at it,
I am the best at being me…
The best thing to be best at. Otherwise you end up being best at being a stranger to yourself. I still want to be really good at something, but How do you know when your the best?
Best at being me is the best you can do!
My thoughts today mainly center around how to get through
this mess of a life. I have made a mess of most everything I come into contact
with. I get help from others, but I definitely am the main contributor to the whole screwed up situation. The reasons are various and some of them are avoidable. I do have trouble getting up the gumption to do undesirable tasks. Being introvert with social anxiety makes many tasks that are necessary very difficult, so there are a lot of things I procrastinate about, and some very important things that never get done because they get put off until it is too late.
In the last few months since I have been separated from my
wife, I have been more proactive about getting things done even though the
separation was not my choice and so led to a feeling of despair that has
finally begun to lift. I am so amazed at how much I have accomplished since I
fell into the pit of what I thought was wallowing. I got a job, found a place
to live, was accepted into a college program which I started and got A’s in my
first quarter while working 30 hours a week. Yet I am still faced with so many
obstacles: finding a new job (the business I work for is run by a very flaky
but sweet woman who I cannot confront about the silly things she does), getting
a cheaper place to live, finding more affordable everything. Maybe I need some more rejection to get me motivated enough to climb over my mountain of anxiety so I can get started. It is a very big mountain and I am very tired.
At least, Writing helps to energize me and get my mind going. I had to
do a lot of writing in my classes because they are all online, most of the time, I am not afraid of a blank page when I am writing what I want to write. I was tired
when I started this now I feel some energy flowing. I’ll have to use it to do
something proactive, but what can you do at 10 pm on a Monday with no money.
Oh, well. Did I mention my terrible sense of timing. Probably why I am single and underemployed, but I am still writing. I hope that is a good thing.
wooohooo for the “A”s, the new job, your honesty and for writing about it! PS: love to hear more about the flaky boss, sounds like a character worth writing about…
She mainly irritates the hell out of me. I wish I could laugh more about it, but I think I will have to get another job first.
Hahaha.
My thoughts are on my new article: how am I going to write it in a way that people can relate? How am I going to write it in a way that people really understand?
It doesn’t stop there. How can I write it in a way that’ll make people comment? How do I write it in a way that’ll influence people to share it with others they know?
A funny thing is, I know an – if not the – answer: create value. Where I’m admittedly knocking myself down is how can I write it specifically, concisely, and to the point.
I write one thing in one way in one moment, then I discard it and write it another way in another moment. I understand perfection is impossible, yet I keep trying to write it (arguably) better where I even went past my deadline for it.
Well, those are my thoughts right now. Back to work in a bit.
Ship the article. It’ll never be perfect. Good enough will do, and in the meantime you’ll get better.
Thank you so much for the encouragement. I am a young aspiring novelist and sometimes it is so easy to become bogged down with discouragement. This was a wonderful pep talk!
Also, I just started up a personal/writing blog and would love it if you would check it out! http://preppybohemia.blogspot.com/
Thank you again for sharing some wisdom for the journey!
For what it’s worth, I believe that being an artist of any form is wanting to give away pieces of yourself, your opinions and experiences. However imperfect those things may seem, disguising someone else’s as ours would only make it worse. At the very least, your ideas are complete and profound, with actual events as proof, while the borrowed ones are superficial.