So, some of you know I pretend to be a writer. I was a prolific and mildly talented writer in my past. I dreamed novel sized stories, but could never get past the short ones, there were a couple I wrote out to 150 pages with the outline and general story written out, but they died there. It took me years to both realize and then accept, that I was no good at anything but some hybrid of prose and poetry that is heavily non conforming to the accepted rules of writing, grammar and english. My problem is rooted somewhere in one or more of my mental illnesses, I just can't absorb nor comprehend (translate to an understandable example) accepted structure and rules for any type of writing.
The words go down on the paper the way they come into my head. They don't want to be amended, they come into my head the way my mind perceives them to be correct and meaningful to what I am trying to express, which in my skewed brain, is the correct form, again, to ME, but maybe not to anyone else.
I guess that sounds more like I just write my stuff for me. That's mostly right. But there's always this weird urge in the back of my head saying "Look, I did a thing" and wanting a nod that it is an okay thing, and not an abomination and insult to writing.
I go years without writing anything. I've come to see it as just who I am, I never stop thinking about writing something, and I have a box full of brief sentences or quotes I write down constantly, but as for an actual "piece", those are far between now. When I was younger, I couldn't stop writing. Now, I have to wait for something that catches my minds eye to stroll by. It's not writer's block, it's just how my personal creativity manifests. In it's own, slow assed, wandering way, just like the rest of my mind.
If I sat down and tried to chart it or something, I bet my writing deterioration would parallel my mental deterioration. So maybe that's what I keep doing it for. I was here, I was flawed, but I left these pieces and examples of what is going on in my head.
Not as helpful as leaving a real, useful legacy, or contribution to the world, but at least a small scratch that says "I was here, and this was a thing I thought".
I always wondered why I had the desire, even obsession, to write, if I was no bloody good at it. I still try and figure that out. It seems a waste, I could have turned the energy to something I was actually good at, but I never found what that was. I've never mastered one thing. I don't have a focus. I never did. I just existed and wrote bad poetry and useless prose and built a collection of weird quotes and brief thoughts.
Stuff I write usually comes from a sudden thought, I hear, see, feel, smell, touch something that suddenly forms into words and then a quick, disjointed "sentence" or line. it will instantly have a theme, a *topic* I guess, attached to it. I'll know what I'm going to write a piece about and I've got that first line in my head (not always technically the first line, but a line in the piece).
Last night, I guess brain thought it was time to mix it up again, or it's another manifestation of my disorders disorder (haha), and I had a title and a "mood" attached to it, present itself as I was getting ready to go to bed. I wrote the title down. Spent an hour deciding if I should keep the "the" in it, and left it sitting on my desk. Titles are usually the bane of my process, I can never, ever think of one I love. But this one is perfect. I just need to translate the mood attached to it into words and throw another piece of my tributes to failing english on the evidence pile.
The words go down on the paper the way they come into my head. They don't want to be amended, they come into my head the way my mind perceives them to be correct and meaningful to what I am trying to express, which in my skewed brain, is the correct form, again, to ME, but maybe not to anyone else.
I guess that sounds more like I just write my stuff for me. That's mostly right. But there's always this weird urge in the back of my head saying "Look, I did a thing" and wanting a nod that it is an okay thing, and not an abomination and insult to writing.
I go years without writing anything. I've come to see it as just who I am, I never stop thinking about writing something, and I have a box full of brief sentences or quotes I write down constantly, but as for an actual "piece", those are far between now. When I was younger, I couldn't stop writing. Now, I have to wait for something that catches my minds eye to stroll by. It's not writer's block, it's just how my personal creativity manifests. In it's own, slow assed, wandering way, just like the rest of my mind.
If I sat down and tried to chart it or something, I bet my writing deterioration would parallel my mental deterioration. So maybe that's what I keep doing it for. I was here, I was flawed, but I left these pieces and examples of what is going on in my head.
Not as helpful as leaving a real, useful legacy, or contribution to the world, but at least a small scratch that says "I was here, and this was a thing I thought".
I always wondered why I had the desire, even obsession, to write, if I was no bloody good at it. I still try and figure that out. It seems a waste, I could have turned the energy to something I was actually good at, but I never found what that was. I've never mastered one thing. I don't have a focus. I never did. I just existed and wrote bad poetry and useless prose and built a collection of weird quotes and brief thoughts.
Stuff I write usually comes from a sudden thought, I hear, see, feel, smell, touch something that suddenly forms into words and then a quick, disjointed "sentence" or line. it will instantly have a theme, a *topic* I guess, attached to it. I'll know what I'm going to write a piece about and I've got that first line in my head (not always technically the first line, but a line in the piece).
Last night, I guess brain thought it was time to mix it up again, or it's another manifestation of my disorders disorder (haha), and I had a title and a "mood" attached to it, present itself as I was getting ready to go to bed. I wrote the title down. Spent an hour deciding if I should keep the "the" in it, and left it sitting on my desk. Titles are usually the bane of my process, I can never, ever think of one I love. But this one is perfect. I just need to translate the mood attached to it into words and throw another piece of my tributes to failing english on the evidence pile.
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