I'm working on a number of writing projects, and I'm finding myself disappointed with my writing ability. Part of the disappointment comes from the repetition that I think I am injecting into the piece and part of it seems to be coming from the act of writing itself. Or maybe I just feel sort of empty afterward. I am not sure. It's certainly a new feeling.
I wrote something today, and I almost felt a bit of sympathy with George Lucas. As soon as I hit publish, I immediately had to revise some of it. And then some more. And then, the next thing I know my protagonists are annoying children and racists aliens. Maybe not quite that bad, but close. I've already got a few paragraphs I want to add to the thing, so I guess it's a good thing I haven't really told anyone about my other blog, er, um.
SHIT.
4 comments:
Stephen King once said, that as a writer, he always read everything "with a wearying contempt, or a grinding envy"
I think writers, and other creative types, never feel satisfied with their works.
never, ever.
I come to this blog to read stories about people being jackasses and tarantulas eating crickets.
WHERE ARE THOSE POSTS.
Working on it.
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