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I am often forced to face that fact that I am not as handy with words as I would like to think. My brain seems to get caught up in act of putting little squiggles of ink on the paper (or electronic impulses on a computer screen) and my thoughts -- which seem so fluid and concise in my brain end up crude and mundane once written down.
I'm never really happy with my work. Although maybe that's not completely true. I am, at first, infatuated with what I write. At first glance it seems to have all the snap and verve that I imagined when I first conceived the idea, but once I go back and read it ends up being lifeless and mundane.
Sometimes I think I work the words to death, revising all the life out of them. Other times I think I don't put enough effort into rooting out the right words that carry with them the connotations that will make my prose sing. Too often, I feel my writing is blocky, lifeless and lumpy compared to well written prose that just zings. The prose that I imagine when I think the thought through. Like a house made of baby blocks sitting next to intricately carved sculptures.
Most of the time, though, I just don't finish it, 'cuz that way I can continue to think that I'm insightful and eloquent rather than having proof otherwise.
I don't suppose it help any that I tend to come at things from a different angle than most. It is hard, I guess, to make intricately carved sculptures when the tools I prefer to work with are blocky and solid.
Still, it would be nice to not continually criticize my own work. I'm a hell of a less nit-picky with other people's work. And the comes a time when being self-deprecating becomes rather than a useful motivational tool.
And it could be that that I use all that as an excuse for me not to do the work that is involved in writing.
Do I not write because I feel that I'm not good enough or do I feel I'm not good enough because I don't write?
Circular logic: It is our friend.
Still, lately, I'm thinking I'm just lazy and I just don't want to work. Of course I cover it all with good reasons not to work. Family, work, household responsibilities, and the ever popular "I work hard and I deserve to just relax".
Need to think on that.
I'm never really happy with my work. Although maybe that's not completely true. I am, at first, infatuated with what I write. At first glance it seems to have all the snap and verve that I imagined when I first conceived the idea, but once I go back and read it ends up being lifeless and mundane.
Sometimes I think I work the words to death, revising all the life out of them. Other times I think I don't put enough effort into rooting out the right words that carry with them the connotations that will make my prose sing. Too often, I feel my writing is blocky, lifeless and lumpy compared to well written prose that just zings. The prose that I imagine when I think the thought through. Like a house made of baby blocks sitting next to intricately carved sculptures.
Most of the time, though, I just don't finish it, 'cuz that way I can continue to think that I'm insightful and eloquent rather than having proof otherwise.
I don't suppose it help any that I tend to come at things from a different angle than most. It is hard, I guess, to make intricately carved sculptures when the tools I prefer to work with are blocky and solid.
Still, it would be nice to not continually criticize my own work. I'm a hell of a less nit-picky with other people's work. And the comes a time when being self-deprecating becomes rather than a useful motivational tool.
And it could be that that I use all that as an excuse for me not to do the work that is involved in writing.
Do I not write because I feel that I'm not good enough or do I feel I'm not good enough because I don't write?
Circular logic: It is our friend.
Still, lately, I'm thinking I'm just lazy and I just don't want to work. Of course I cover it all with good reasons not to work. Family, work, household responsibilities, and the ever popular "I work hard and I deserve to just relax".
Need to think on that.
