%%USERNAME%%    %%ACCWORDS%% %%ONOFF%% |
 Well, not so much fun and leisure as...get some damn writing done, you fool! |
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A while ago, I attended a writers' workshop and the lady who hosted it told us all to go away with this bit of advice - to write for just ten minutes a day. I was determined to go ahead with it and I did...for two days. So today I remembered that I'd resolved to do so and I whipped out my journal and wrote for fifteen minutes. I'm typing out pretty much the same thing that I wrote earlier, with some differences. I find I can go a lot more in-depth when I'm typing than when I'm writing by hand. Writing by hand is such a chore! I've struggled with loneliness a lot throughout my twenty-nine years. I struggled with it when I was the only one home with my mum when I was a teen and everybody else had other places to be. I struggled with it after marriage and when we moved into our own house for the first time. I struggled with it after my son was born and I felt torn between pursuing my writing and being a good mum, because my culture seems to indicate that a woman has absolutely no chance of living her own life - or at least, she has no chance of attaining any goals she hasn't already attained - once she has children. I feel it occasionally still, even though I get so little time to myself nowadays that any alone time is simply awesome. I've tried to come to terms with the idea that being alone isn't a bad thing - and a lot of the time, it isn't. My friends don't live nearby so I don't get to see them often, and even when I do, I feel like there isn't much depth to our conversations. I'm surrounded by people who do not think like me, who do not share any of my interests and hobbies. I feel like I've become desensitised to isolation. Loneliness is my preferred way to be. I walked into my college cafeteria at lunch today and it was the usual hubbub of activity. Youngsters walking around, chatting animatedly, shouting across the room, laughing, eating, socialising. I could recall how that clamour wouldn't have bothered me ten-twelve years ago, when I would have been one of the youngsters talking excitedly with her friends. But, as this moment, I just found an out-of-the-way little table and sat down. I watched the crowds for a while, wondering why it was only at moments like these that the sense of isolation became so strong. In the middle of a crowd, I feel most alone. |
| 22:29 I don't know if half-assed is a word...well, I don't think it is, but it encapsulates my entire personality very well. I'm never...assed about anything enough to give it my all. I like baking but complex decorating requires time and effort, which I cannot be bothered to give. I made the resolution to practice drawing every day but...I never got anywhere. I like sewing but I've never bothered to sew for the sake of getting better at it - I just sew when I'm bored and in the mood for a roughly-made dress that is most likely going to end up a couple sizes too big. I make canvases but haven't bothered practising to get better at lettering so my wanna-be calligraphy-esque writing on these canvases, when I do make the effort to bust the paints out, is all squished together towards the end. And of course, it affects my writing. I write a story. I get into it. I love it! But I'm still not invested enough to go all out and challenge myself, which results in the same "safe" drivel all the time - underdeveloped plots, fantasy settings that are a little bland, and some plain lazy writing when I can't be bothered to show a scene and instead condense it into a couple paragraphs of exposition. I'm trying to change that...although I'm not trying nearly hard enough. I can blame my new surroundings and the lack of routine all I want but the truth doesn't change. I'm not motivated. I want to write but the desire to get the story out isn't there at all. I get distracted by the stupidest things - this word puzzle I downloaded on my phone a while back, Tetris (also recently downloaded), Netflix, WDC (not to say WDC is stupid!)...in fact, I could condense all of the aforementioned into one word - internet! The internet is an enormous distraction. Just knowing that a possible means of procrastinating is but a click away is enough to ensure days go by before I get any serious writing done. ...After a while, my entries all start to feel like they're just talking about the same things. But what to do? I appear to have a strainer beneath my memories - only the substantial memories are kept. All the others just vanish into the ether. 22:45 ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** |
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