After seeing a few people who had started the new Blogging University course about writing I thought I might jump on board too. So why do I write? Good question, but I don’t think I write so much as I blog…I know I post almost every day, but it usually just a few words scribbled out to go with some pretty pictures. I do write on another blog site, words and short stories that I never post into the real world. I have put snippets up in other small arts groups, but never seem to push them further. I do enjoy writing but I feel that my voice isn’t as strong as I like. I work on my stories in private and never really share them.
Often my stories are sparked from an image and vice versa. I have written a handful again recently and I would like to flesh them out further like I do with my art. I start with the bare bones of an idea and then add more details as I go. I find the more I work on a piece the more comfortable and confident I become, I am hoping to achieve the same sort of feel with my words as well. Just for me, perhaps a set of short stories, with images to match.
I am hoping that this short course will help me gain some understanding and aptitude for my writing styles; dark and moody as they are…..yes my stories are much like my images. Perhaps this is something I need to look into further, why are my words and my art so dark? I know it is fun to explore the dark side in the safety of my own world, but does it draw me so?
I have also enjoyed books and stories of fantasy and sometimes even Science fiction, I have dabbled with both, but more stories only seem to get so far. I have the initial burst of an idea and I write something down, the start of something wonderful…then it just peters out. It’s not so much writer’s block, but a lack of understanding in the concept of building a more complex story.
Even this very first post, I am supposed to write freestyle for 30 minutes…..10 minutes in and I have run out of steam, my art is bottomless and I can find inspiration over and over again, but when it comes to writing I do not have the same energy or resources. I guess it boils down to having confidence, I used to be worried that people didn’t like my art or would not understand it, and let’s face some people don’t. And I am good with all that, I don’t even care anymore I create because I want to, my art does not owe me anything beyond the joy it gives me to create and I share it with people because most of them seem to take some enjoyment from it too. I am the same with my writing, except that I do not share it, I write for me because I enjoy it. I don’t plan on sending it to publishers, or rehashing it over and over until it’s polished and shines, I will leave that for others, who feel the need to do that for themselves. Who feel a need to get their thoughts and words onto paper and on other people’s book shelves. I do not feel that need. Not sure if that is a good thing or a bad thing?
I often wonder what pushed those that create such wonderful masterpieces? JK Rowling and David and Leigh Eddings, Terry Brooks, just to name a few of my favorites. Where do they find the energy and drive to keep going? It’s possible I have a really short attention span, I know I can jump from one thing to another, perhaps why my short stories never really have an ending, I create the start and leave it open to an unknown unseen audience to finish it, except that there is no audience.
I write in my journal, but I think it is a random form of bullet journaling, not in the traditional sense, but my own short hand, scribble sense, with bits of ideas and little drawings and random words thrown in, I can look back on these ideas and occasionally lose the original thread, but find something new, something that was missing. Perhaps I should start that with my stories. Or perhaps I should start a collaboration of sorts. Did you ever as a child, perhaps at school, start a story with just a few lines and then pass it along to the next person, who added a bit more and it continued until it came back to you, only to have the store change into something completely different from where you started? It was fun hearing where all these different children took your idea and to watch it bloom into something else entirely. I wonder if that can be done now, or am I too selfish and too pig headed?
As we get older I think we cherish things from our childhood or at least relish in the knowledge that we have the freedom that we no longer care as much about what others think. We can act silly because we want to. We no longer crave to fit in, we no longer yearn for some unattainable goal of success or beauty or wealth or whatever. We yearn to be accepted for who we truly are, we also have the wisdom (I hope) to only keep the company of those who do. We no longer wish for the drama of youth, just the feel of it. I honestly believe that youth is wasted on the young. I sound old when I say it, but I just don’t care. I am enjoying my life far more now than when I was young. I just wish the body could keep up.