Narcissus at the lily pond...
So I'm stuck with editing/proofreading/rewriting a paper which, while discussing a fascinating topic, bores me to tears with the author's evident cluelessness as to what writing an academic paper, or just writing, or just English for that matter, is all about.
So what did I do to distract myself from ? I read my old fics. And...
I haven't been writing in a while. I try and I try and all I'm getting are a pile of single page starters that go nowhere and will probably stay that way for an indefinite time because I can't bear to look at them. They look stunted, stilted, choppy and coarse. Forget singing, forget soaring, the prose I wrote on those aborted first pages would be lucky if they could twitch.
And here's the funniest thing. Reading my stories again did not fill me with despair anymore. For many long months, maybe even more than a year, I have come to doubt whether I could still write. I haven't always been the most confident of writers (and who is, come to that), but I've read a lot of incredible pieces of writing and noticed how people are churning up amazing volumes of work and more and more authors are getting published, and notwithstanding everything I have heard and said to myself before to dispel my insecurity, my dissatisfaction with the quality and quantity of output grew to the point where it only worsens the problem by making me write less. I grow so critical over everything I write that I end up getting nothing done. Worse, I even, to a certain degree, stop reading, because it hurt too much to be reminded of how people could overcome their insecurity issues and write, post and get published. Don't tell me I shouldn't feel this way, because I've been telling myself the same thing and I wouldn't listen. It's an old, old story. It happens.
So back to this walk down the fanfic writing memory lane. You know, I never thought I would enjoy re-reading my fics. I thought I would only find the boo-boos, the clumsy turn of phrase that I somehow had missed, and then berate myself for being too hasty, too overeager and not meticulous enough. I didn't expect to be amused and, in the case of this fic even surprised to find that I enjoyed reading what I wrote. Does that sound pompous or complacent at all? I mean, sure I found the typos and everything embarrassing, but I was happy with the imagery, I was impressed by the way the story is told, the way it unfolds in my head like a film, the way it captivates me, even now when my passions have somewhat shifted. And I know not all of them had been easy to write. Some had been well nigh impossible to put down into words. And yet there they are and they make enjoyable reading, even for me. Whoda thunk it?
So...I don't know where it will go from here, actually. But, word of advice, more for myself really than for anyone else: when you doubt yourself, it doesn't hurt to look back and see what you've done and made along the way. You might find yourself happier, more at peace, uplifted, and even, more importantly, inspired.
Have you ever re-read your old works? Does your impression of them change with time? Do you like them better now, or do you find yourself thinking "Holy [insert noun here]! What were you on, girl?" :)
Oh, and...I need book recommendation something desperate! The last book I read was Terry Pratchett's "Nation" and that was months ago! Some bookworm I am, eh?
So what did I do to distract myself from ? I read my old fics. And...
I haven't been writing in a while. I try and I try and all I'm getting are a pile of single page starters that go nowhere and will probably stay that way for an indefinite time because I can't bear to look at them. They look stunted, stilted, choppy and coarse. Forget singing, forget soaring, the prose I wrote on those aborted first pages would be lucky if they could twitch.
And here's the funniest thing. Reading my stories again did not fill me with despair anymore. For many long months, maybe even more than a year, I have come to doubt whether I could still write. I haven't always been the most confident of writers (and who is, come to that), but I've read a lot of incredible pieces of writing and noticed how people are churning up amazing volumes of work and more and more authors are getting published, and notwithstanding everything I have heard and said to myself before to dispel my insecurity, my dissatisfaction with the quality and quantity of output grew to the point where it only worsens the problem by making me write less. I grow so critical over everything I write that I end up getting nothing done. Worse, I even, to a certain degree, stop reading, because it hurt too much to be reminded of how people could overcome their insecurity issues and write, post and get published. Don't tell me I shouldn't feel this way, because I've been telling myself the same thing and I wouldn't listen. It's an old, old story. It happens.
So back to this walk down the fanfic writing memory lane. You know, I never thought I would enjoy re-reading my fics. I thought I would only find the boo-boos, the clumsy turn of phrase that I somehow had missed, and then berate myself for being too hasty, too overeager and not meticulous enough. I didn't expect to be amused and, in the case of this fic even surprised to find that I enjoyed reading what I wrote. Does that sound pompous or complacent at all? I mean, sure I found the typos and everything embarrassing, but I was happy with the imagery, I was impressed by the way the story is told, the way it unfolds in my head like a film, the way it captivates me, even now when my passions have somewhat shifted. And I know not all of them had been easy to write. Some had been well nigh impossible to put down into words. And yet there they are and they make enjoyable reading, even for me. Whoda thunk it?
So...I don't know where it will go from here, actually. But, word of advice, more for myself really than for anyone else: when you doubt yourself, it doesn't hurt to look back and see what you've done and made along the way. You might find yourself happier, more at peace, uplifted, and even, more importantly, inspired.
Have you ever re-read your old works? Does your impression of them change with time? Do you like them better now, or do you find yourself thinking "Holy [insert noun here]! What were you on, girl?" :)
Oh, and...I need book recommendation something desperate! The last book I read was Terry Pratchett's "Nation" and that was months ago! Some bookworm I am, eh?