Thursday, August 28, 2003
UGH. I am so flippin tired and I have no idea why. I wonder if a malfunctioning gal bladder can effect your energy level. >:op~~~~~~ Of course part of the problem could be that I have only had 7 oz of Coke this morning when I'm usually starting my 2nd 20 oz by around this time.
Not much to report at the present time. Our phone line isn't working so if you're trying to call us and get a busy signal, that's why.
Aidan is still being 2. Ian is having fun now that Evan is back. I don't know how much they are actually playing together but he likes having Evan around so that's a good thing. When I stopped to pick them up yesterday he was sitting on the car carpet playing trucks and Jacob was to. He said that Even had already gone home. It didn't look like they were interacting at that point but it's a lot to ask of him to interact with other kids
all the time. Heck, it's a lot to ask me to interact with other people all the time. It gets really draining after a while. I think that is one of the reasons why I like the internet so much. I can interact with people in doses and not be seen as a stuck up snob. I do IM on occasion but not often and usually only with close friends.
It is one of those Twilight Zone kind of coinsidences. I was reading
Joel's blog yesterday and he had an article about writing critique and folks talking about his writing being too descriptive or not descriptive enough...you know, the usual. Then a few minutes later I am blog hopping and come across a writing blog and start reading. The story was a good one about a daughter and her mother. I enjoyed the concept. But the writing was (IMHO) really meandering and slowed the story up immensely. Then I had the thought. Now some folks might find this deep and rich and filled with pathos that would be essential to convey the feeling of isolation and numb acceptance the daughter was feeling. And it did convey that very well. But did it need to go all the way around the block, into the next county and back to do it? I don't think so. Would everyone agree with me on that. Probably not.
So what does all of this mean, really. I don't know. I suppose it means that reading is subjective. That any one can like anything anyone writes for one reason or another. So I shouldn't worry about it so much and just write. Easier said than done in my instance, however. When I was younger, ever since the 6th grade, in fact, I have known I wanted to be a writer when I grew up. And I told everyone that. When I was in high school, My Teacher, Mrs. Cilhar, (I
still can't spell her name dangit) entered me in a lot of essay contests to get college scholarship money. I got most of it and one of the ones I only got 3rd place in she flat out told me it was "political". I received Honorable Mention in the L. Ron Hubbard Science Fiction Writer's contenst one year. In college I wrote papers for the upperclassmen for cases of beer. I was on my way. Then I got caught up in romance, moving in with John, trying to get a job so we could live and tried to keep writing but it was just too much. I was all of 20 at the time and not a very mature 20 at that.
As time went on my mom started mentioning when we talked on the phone that everyone kept asking her if I'd written my book yet. ???????
GAD People were expecting me to publish a book!!!!! I think that is where a lot of my difficulties started. I don't do well under pressure. At least not the "you're going to disappoint everyone and shame your family" kind of pressure. And there is still some of that hanging on to me. I'm dreadfully afraid of failing everyone. If I submit stuff and no one likes it I will be a failure and disappoint everyone I ever knew. And in the same breath earn their scorn and derision. "I thought you said you were going to be a writer when you grew up?" Yeah, so did I. Guess I was wrong. *heh heh* oopps. I realize that I am doing this all to myself. That this is all self-imposed pressure but it's still a lot to bear and it tends to make one rather shy away from the whole concept of writing.
Sometimes I will write just for fun and tell myself, it's just for me. Being a writer isn't a job, it's a state of consciousness. It's who you are in the fiber of your being. If I never put two more words together in my life I would still be a writer because the stories and characters are there. My muse still nags at me. When I write I am transported to another level and become just a conduit for the words I don't construct them they flow through me. I don't know what's going to happen in a story 99% of the time until it happens. But neither does that make you good at it. And that's the part that worries me. Yes I'm a writer and yes I can write but writing well enough that someone will like it and want to publish it and then people will read it and like it and tell their friends about it. That's where I stop. I can't get past that part. And when I get to the point in my writing for fun where I start thinking about submitting again, I stop.
Which brings me back to my point about Joel and the story about the mom and daughter. Anyone can like anything anyone writes. I have read some stuff that has been published that is complete and utter crap and I am embarassed for the person who wrote it to be publicly exposed as an idiot and a hack. But some people think it is the best piece of literature they have ever picked up in their lives. Quite a quandry.
posted by Unknown
at 11:46 AM ::
~#~
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