Melancholy Moods

[partly]

There was a time when I'd share my writing with my friends. Where their input meant more than anyone else's. Not because they would lavish me with praises, but because they are good and honest people. People who I trusted as a gauge to see how good or bad my work was. People I knew to be smart and competent and worthy of my respect.

Now it seems I rely more and more on others... writing groups, on-line critiques. Full of people who I don't know, or at least, don't know well. That's not to say that they aren't smart and competent and worthy of respect. They just don't carry the same satisfaction as knowing that I've pleased a friend or that I managed to meet their level of expectation.

Foolish in a way, too. Perhaps it's a sign of moving on in my writing. I wonder if the melancholy feeling is from selfishness of wanting to take up that much of my friends time or just a natural progression in who reads my stories in order to improve my writing.

I do know that it's hard to write these days. I need to get a piece written today in order to mail off for my writing group, and I just don't care.

It's probably the weather. It could be I'm coming down with a cold. Maybe I'm just not the writer I've always wanted to be. Perhaps it's just because it doesn't really matter. Or it could be that all the other unknowns in my life right now, this is the one that I can't deal with.

Whatever. It stinks.

ETA: This isn't a plea for all the people on my flist to read my stuff. I haven't been posting all the things that I've written, so it's not like you could be reading everything.

Comments

[donnickcottage.livejournal.com]

For a long time I felt great about my writing simply because I loved the process. I enjoyed my work; anyone else enjoying it was a bonus though not necessary. Few read what I scribbled, but luckily those that did were far more often than not kind if not gushing. So eventually I considered myself worthy of a larger audience.

I love to be read, almost as much as I love to write. But I can't ask people to read, nor could I ask them to comment if they did read. My guess is that neither happens by request, and it would only add unfair dissapointment in people to my repertoire of sadnesses. In fact it has, as at times I've at least been blatantly snotty in my intimating that no one is reading me and few if any have ever read even that well enough to get the drift lol.

Right now I have perhaps 8 poems and a dozen short stories posted on two pages in the last two weeks and I have near 12 comments on the lot of them given me by anyone beyond a woman who is deliberately keeping pace with me. A year ago I would have blown it off. Today I'm considering quitting my community with the thought that no one would notice, and of stopping the posting of my poetry and fiction altogether as it's beginning to feel like no more than petty vanity.

All this is only to say I get it lass, though I don't know what to say that would help any. I love your writing, you are very talented and have a wonderful voice. I'm not a fan of fanfic so your endevours in that arena would escape me. I wish I could note that I'd read a much as you post but I work far more hours than I ever did at this point, and with my body imploding it's really hard for me to stay awake anymore much less concentrate:)

I don't think it's foolishness. Selfish perhaps, aren't we all. I want your time too, as well as everyone elses that's on my flist. I'd just chalk it up to a bout of melancholia and not try to look too deeply into the projection pond. Maybe you had a bad taco. The desire will come back. You write, passion waxes and wanes.

Be well,
Bragi

[partly.livejournal.com]

I've never really enjoyed writing. I like coming up with ideas and I like when the words are on paper, but the whole "putting them down" thing is long and hard. I like writing but I don't enjoy it. For me, writing is more of a compulsion than a calling.

Sharing with friends -- even honest, objective ones -- is less daunting. As much as I pretend I really don't think I can write... or rather, I'm afraid that I'm only average. I'm afraid that what I want to say is something that nobody really wants to hear. I'm afraid I really don't have a true story to tell at all. Worse yet, I'd have to admit all that to myself.

And then in a bout of optimism, I tell convince myself to ignore my doubts and just go for it.

Now that I submitted my story for critique, I'll actually have to sit through it. Take the crits and work with them. Pretend that what they say really doesn't hurt and that it's all just wonderfully, helpful pointers. I'm just not sure if I have the energy to be that cheerful.

I'm sure that my current (temp) job is part of the problem. I love it, it's a great job and it pays well, but I'm working very, very hard at being very, very positive and cheerful and outgoing and way smarter than I actually feel I am and I'm using up all my reserves of positive coping power. I'm just not sure if I have any left for the story.

That and I now actually have to write more and I've fighting the nagging feeling that I'm not going to be able to do more. *shakes head* See. I'm lacking my usual optimism.

Fanfic is vanity publishing, but finishing the piece taught me a great deal. Even for those who actually *read* fanfic, stories like mine don't get a lot of comments. By that, I mean stories that are long, not overly melodramatic and stay fairly close to the feel and plot of the show. Fanfic, in many ways, is about what the show didn't have: sex, graphic violence, odd relationships and angst... lots and lots of angst. The more "what if" and "they never would have done this on network tv" you can put in it, the more people comment.

I really don't understand it, but there are some good stories out there that stick to the show. That's what I read and that's what I try to write.

Still, as much as I like my fanfic, I love my original stuff better.

I just have to buckle down and finish something.