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Happy Birthdays.
Jul. 22nd, 2006 01:20 amHappy Birthday, ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
redheadgirl!
redheadgirl!Jul. 22nd, 2006
I'm not known for my writing. Not really. I'm known for my art. For some reason the thing that touches people the most, the thing that I've had the most success at in life is my art. I'm not really sure why because I don't think my art is really that new or challenging or different. I have a lot of amazing works in me - what people see of my art is the tip of the iceberg when it comes to what visions are inside my head. I could count ten people off the top of my head that are better artists than I am.
For some reason, my mind wants to write. Write original stories, not of someone else's universe. I have a story and it wants to be told. But every day I grieve cause I think "God damn it, I'm not good enough to tell this story. I'm not not a writer! There's so much to cover. They say 'Write what you know' but I don't know jack shit!"
I'm constantly in fear when I write. I'm scared my characters aren't interesting enough. I'm scared there's not enough to them. That they're cliched. That their lifestyles aren't real enough. That it's too predictable. Cause if I can see it all in my head, won't people see it ping off the page? Shit, maybe I've been reading too much Agatha Christie. It's amazing what that woman could do so effortlessly. She was a decievingly brilliant writer.
And really - why is this so fucking hard? The world I'm writing is the world I live in. It's not a new world, it's not like I'm writing Dune, or Harry Potter, or some super sci-fi/fantasy epic where I have to make shit up. Everything I need to know is there. But I don't know what it is to be a bar maid. I can *imagine* it, I've watched them working their butts off while drunken idiots slur their orders at them, even though they're already serving someone else.
I don't know what it's like to be a smart person. To be someone that's made it to University and actually finished what they went there to do. I decided that Miri would be serious enough about her writing that she'd take it that far, she'd do a course and try to learn the shit out of the English language. Looking into that kind of life makes it so achingly clear how *little* I know about crafting a story, how ill-equipped I am at this game.
And yet there's still this story that's busting to be told, and I don't want anyone else to tell it. Sometimes I think it's a fucking stupid idea for a story, but it's there nevertheless. Seriously - I don't know what the fuck I'm doing. I see Lori's work and talk to her about her writing and I feel like a fucking idiot, fumbling around helplessly with words, not understanding their true weight and power.
I often wish I had someone to talk to when writing. It's so important for me to have a sounding board. I hate bothering people, though, and I just *know* I'm boring folks when I bring up my original work. I also fear that I'll come off as one of these people that only like to talk about themselves, cause this just isn't true.
I've been working on the characters, trying to fill them out. I discovered Miriam is a lot more uptight than I first imagined her. Felix is more of a man than I realised. I'm always scared that Felix is too much the 'idealised romance novel male'. I'd hate that. Would he really feel the things I have him feeling? Is there such a thing as a man who just loves to kick back with a certain woman and watch videos, get drunk or stoned and eat pizza? I guess I've known a bunch of those men, so it has to be true.
Miriam is so fucking naive. Her best friend, Genny, is not. She's not much more than a blush of an idea, a ghost of a person. But there's going to be a lot to her. She's the glue that binds the social scene together. The rock.
It's going to be hard to write Errol, because he's based on a stereotype. Sort of. He's the man women *think* they want. The man they think they can tame, the man they percieve as the perfect fellow. But he's human, too, he has to be otherwise he's just a cheap plot device. So filling out Errol, figuring out why he is the way he is... it's going to be tough. Because I'm *nothing* like him. I don't understand people like him. Why does he do the things he does?
Anyway, it's 2am, I have to make sure my sister's girls get to sleep (they're staying the night). I might read some more Poirot, too. I like snuggling up with some Poirot. *laugh*
Laters. Sorry about the tl;dr-age.
For some reason, my mind wants to write. Write original stories, not of someone else's universe. I have a story and it wants to be told. But every day I grieve cause I think "God damn it, I'm not good enough to tell this story. I'm not not a writer! There's so much to cover. They say 'Write what you know' but I don't know jack shit!"
I'm constantly in fear when I write. I'm scared my characters aren't interesting enough. I'm scared there's not enough to them. That they're cliched. That their lifestyles aren't real enough. That it's too predictable. Cause if I can see it all in my head, won't people see it ping off the page? Shit, maybe I've been reading too much Agatha Christie. It's amazing what that woman could do so effortlessly. She was a decievingly brilliant writer.
And really - why is this so fucking hard? The world I'm writing is the world I live in. It's not a new world, it's not like I'm writing Dune, or Harry Potter, or some super sci-fi/fantasy epic where I have to make shit up. Everything I need to know is there. But I don't know what it is to be a bar maid. I can *imagine* it, I've watched them working their butts off while drunken idiots slur their orders at them, even though they're already serving someone else.
I don't know what it's like to be a smart person. To be someone that's made it to University and actually finished what they went there to do. I decided that Miri would be serious enough about her writing that she'd take it that far, she'd do a course and try to learn the shit out of the English language. Looking into that kind of life makes it so achingly clear how *little* I know about crafting a story, how ill-equipped I am at this game.
And yet there's still this story that's busting to be told, and I don't want anyone else to tell it. Sometimes I think it's a fucking stupid idea for a story, but it's there nevertheless. Seriously - I don't know what the fuck I'm doing. I see Lori's work and talk to her about her writing and I feel like a fucking idiot, fumbling around helplessly with words, not understanding their true weight and power.
I often wish I had someone to talk to when writing. It's so important for me to have a sounding board. I hate bothering people, though, and I just *know* I'm boring folks when I bring up my original work. I also fear that I'll come off as one of these people that only like to talk about themselves, cause this just isn't true.
I've been working on the characters, trying to fill them out. I discovered Miriam is a lot more uptight than I first imagined her. Felix is more of a man than I realised. I'm always scared that Felix is too much the 'idealised romance novel male'. I'd hate that. Would he really feel the things I have him feeling? Is there such a thing as a man who just loves to kick back with a certain woman and watch videos, get drunk or stoned and eat pizza? I guess I've known a bunch of those men, so it has to be true.
Miriam is so fucking naive. Her best friend, Genny, is not. She's not much more than a blush of an idea, a ghost of a person. But there's going to be a lot to her. She's the glue that binds the social scene together. The rock.
It's going to be hard to write Errol, because he's based on a stereotype. Sort of. He's the man women *think* they want. The man they think they can tame, the man they percieve as the perfect fellow. But he's human, too, he has to be otherwise he's just a cheap plot device. So filling out Errol, figuring out why he is the way he is... it's going to be tough. Because I'm *nothing* like him. I don't understand people like him. Why does he do the things he does?
Anyway, it's 2am, I have to make sure my sister's girls get to sleep (they're staying the night). I might read some more Poirot, too. I like snuggling up with some Poirot. *laugh*
Laters. Sorry about the tl;dr-age.
