52 weeks ago today, after several weeks of work, I clicked the 'publish' icon, and a story appeared in Nephelokokkygia. All 60-odd thousand words of it. Since then, I've probably only published a few hundred words in that blog, none of them in prose form. I've been reading that story again - yet again - over the past few days. I've also been reading, for only the second time, and in much smaller helpings, another story. And the sense of my inadequacy as a writer has become overwhelming. It's something I want to be able to do, and to do well, but it's clear to me now that I'm simply not good enough. The story whose anniversary falls today is, of course, Alexandrine, and, much as I still love the eponymous hero, if that story is the best I can do, and I'm pretty sure it is, there's no point in my continuing the pretence, the conceit, that I could ever be a writer. And that feeling has been cemented in the past 48 hours by the other story, now I'm seriously getting back into again. Sandel. The divine Tony eclipsing my Xander on every level. Will I ever write anything fictional again? I have my doubts.
Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B
Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B
Writing is a way to release emotions, put form to thoughts, and to perhaps act as a cathartic, much like a blog, but only more structured, with a plan, a plot, a storyline in mind. You don't have to be a Shakespeare or an Eliot or even be on par with the "greats" to get a lot out of the pleasure of writing. I hope you'll not compare yourself to others, but only to your own desire to write stories that please you, and bring you the rush of seeing a story arc come to fruition and finally, completion.
ReplyDeletePeace <3
Jay
Hello Jay
DeleteI haven't been able to write anything worthwhile for a year, but, until today, I didn't properly understand why. But the juxtaposition of Sandel, which I've just finished a few minutes ago, and my magnum opus has just made it too painfully obvious that not only am I not good enough to write sufficiently well to appeal to other people, I'm not even good enough to produce anything that pleases myself. I'm not comparing myself to anyone else, just to a standard that would satisfy me. And I can't even reach that standard, which nullifies any pleasure there might be in the process of writing. Maybe, some time in the future, I'll come to a place where I can find the spark again. But, at the moment, I don't think it's likely.
Love & best wishes
Sammy B