A lifetime later

It feels like a lifetime. What prophetic words from my January 2012 words predicting it of being an interesting year. Now let’s redact that to three years.

Life aside, my writing projects have resurrected themselves in my mind. I began to rework that Nano novel from years ago, but after spending a couple weeks on its backstory, I felt it compulsory to go back to Parallax. Is my passion in that story? Perhaps.

After reading its fifty or so pages, I tossed the manuscript. Absolutely nothing new for me, it’s the third incomplete first draft I’ve trashed since its inception. No regrets at all, so happy to do it. Except this time it was about 50 pages worth. That kind of hurt. Again, nothing new. Now the pressure is really on to make this four times better than the last, and I’m anxious of this challenge.

So I have to ask myself, why do I write? In my youth, it was for pleasure, to expel the visions in my head and expound the seemingly brilliant bursts of awesome ideas to vomit them all at once into various settings and characters based off of pictures that inspired those visions. They all stunk badly, turned into a mishmosh of random themes and quirks that vaguely followed some sort of pathetic plot turned into one giant let down.

Strangely sounds like the story of my life. Weird.

Moving along.

But it all depends on perspective. I could view myself and my aspirations and dreams as a complete failure, and so give up while I’m ahead. Or, I could view it as a period of trial and error, necessary mistakes that needed to be made, else I be forever bogged in a state of amateur stupidity. I’m typically optimistic and self destructive so I’m going to see these past ten years as a necessary learning curve I had to take. With a few spectacular free falls from the cliffs.

image

Analogies aside, I’m back in this writing thing.

I write because these stories keep developing in my head, my mind never fails to wander back to them, want to improve them, and make them come alive, one day. It’s not about the money, it’s about satisfaction with myself, proving to myself that I can do this. Make something finally come out the way I want it to. To get my point across successfully. (ie to write a book I would love to read.) 

Why do you write? And why the heck aren’t you writing in your story right now?

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About Jessica M


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