Now I can't bloody sleep.
So this is what the teenage years I missed out on feels like.
Hell and damnation.
Saturday, July 14, 2007
Sunday, July 01, 2007
On many sudden returns...
Ah, online blog...how I've missed you.
I've found an interesting blurb from an online from about what it means to be a Libra - in a nutshell, although many people think about the scales as being particularly balanced, it's worth remembering that most scales, before finding that rare moment of perfect balance, spend quite some time shifting wildly from one side to the other. Kind of like a particularly funky philosophical roller coaster.
As it applies to me - I think I blogged almost continuously for several months, and then went on a five-month hiatus. Extremes much? Maybe it's time to find that nice even balance.
One thing that's punctuated my writing recently is rather more troubling. I've noted a certain...hesitancy to my work. Words don't seem to come as easily as they used to - I don't mean inspired passages or that sudden flash of particularly well-constructed prose. I seem to forget synonyms, lose entire words, and have to sit there trying to remember what perfect word fits into this sentence. I'm aware it happens to everyone, but it's generally be a rare occurrance for me, and twenty-five seems rather young to be suddenly going senile.
I'm putting it down as being rusty...really rusty...
But in an effort to de-rust myself, I've decided to start writing more. Even if it's bad. That's a key point, is to write even if it's bad. Especially if it's bad, because hey, that's one more terrible story that's no longer in your system. It's worth noting, however, that being an only child and a borderline genius has made me, paradoxically, both emphatically lazy and neurotically perfectionist. Which, basically, means that I never get anything done because it takes too much effort to make it perfect.
Hmmmm...I was kinda aiming for a joke in there somewhere, and it saddens me a bit that the last statements are neither humorous nor, unfortunately, particularly untrue. Well, okay, I might be exaggerating with the borderline genius part...but only a little! Don't take away my delusions, dammit! It's one of the few things I have left to hold on to! *sob*
Once again, I segue. I'm thinking that, for an exercise, I'll write one short story a week. Just one. Won't matter how long it is, won't matter how crappy it is, but just write it. Might even have it be a sort of "stream of conscious" sort of deal where I just start writing the first thing that comes to mind, and hammer it out as the week goes on. Exactly one week, and no revisiting when I discover the inevitable grammatical errors.
I think I will also take long walks on the beach and go visit the Museum of Sex.
I've found an interesting blurb from an online from about what it means to be a Libra - in a nutshell, although many people think about the scales as being particularly balanced, it's worth remembering that most scales, before finding that rare moment of perfect balance, spend quite some time shifting wildly from one side to the other. Kind of like a particularly funky philosophical roller coaster.
As it applies to me - I think I blogged almost continuously for several months, and then went on a five-month hiatus. Extremes much? Maybe it's time to find that nice even balance.
One thing that's punctuated my writing recently is rather more troubling. I've noted a certain...hesitancy to my work. Words don't seem to come as easily as they used to - I don't mean inspired passages or that sudden flash of particularly well-constructed prose. I seem to forget synonyms, lose entire words, and have to sit there trying to remember what perfect word fits into this sentence. I'm aware it happens to everyone, but it's generally be a rare occurrance for me, and twenty-five seems rather young to be suddenly going senile.
I'm putting it down as being rusty...really rusty...
But in an effort to de-rust myself, I've decided to start writing more. Even if it's bad. That's a key point, is to write even if it's bad. Especially if it's bad, because hey, that's one more terrible story that's no longer in your system. It's worth noting, however, that being an only child and a borderline genius has made me, paradoxically, both emphatically lazy and neurotically perfectionist. Which, basically, means that I never get anything done because it takes too much effort to make it perfect.
Hmmmm...I was kinda aiming for a joke in there somewhere, and it saddens me a bit that the last statements are neither humorous nor, unfortunately, particularly untrue. Well, okay, I might be exaggerating with the borderline genius part...but only a little! Don't take away my delusions, dammit! It's one of the few things I have left to hold on to! *sob*
Once again, I segue. I'm thinking that, for an exercise, I'll write one short story a week. Just one. Won't matter how long it is, won't matter how crappy it is, but just write it. Might even have it be a sort of "stream of conscious" sort of deal where I just start writing the first thing that comes to mind, and hammer it out as the week goes on. Exactly one week, and no revisiting when I discover the inevitable grammatical errors.
I think I will also take long walks on the beach and go visit the Museum of Sex.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)