Letter to the Editor
Feb. 22nd, 2005 05:06 pmDear me,
It bothers me to see that no one has deemed any of my recent entries worthy of comment. As pathetic as it may be to admit, I measure the worth of my entries by how many people comment on them. Yes, I know it's wrong, it's stupid. I've gotten to the point where I don't enjoy writing for the sake of it. I write in order to be read. If people aren't reading, I see no point in writing, and the only way I know people are reading is if they comment.
Writing is not the joy it once was. I thought studying writing at the college level would make me a better writer, and it did. However, it also stole every last ounce of magic from the process. Now I view writing as a task, a specific job that should only be undertaken if one is familiar with the rules. Write more than one draft, nothing is ever perfect the moment it comes out. Labor over word choice. Cut all unecessary text. And for the love of God have at least a basic understanding of spelling and grammar. Obey the rules, only good writing is worth reading, and writing that does not obey the rules is not good.
I can't write for myself anymore mainly because I feel no need to write. I used to live on words. I'd run home from school everyday and write for hours. I'd work on stories, novels, novellas, poems, you name it. Not because there was anyone I wanted to read it, but because I had all these stories inside that I had to get out. Because the act of putting words on paper made me happy. These days, I don't see any point in writing. I know there isn't a literary magazine on the planet that will accept my work, my profs spent five years making that very clear to me. Not to metion the fact that my work is sophmoric and self-absorbed. All I do is write about myself, forgetting that no one really gives a shit about what happens to me. I'm just a girl, like any other girl, and that hardly makes the stories I tell worth reading. So if no one will read, if no one wants the stories, why write? Why exert the effort if there will be no pay off? Those are my thoughts on the subject.
I don't see the point in doing things for the sake of them any more. That must sound horribly jaded coming from me. I used to love doing things for their own sake. Why else should we live? We do life for the hell of it, knowing full well there's no ultimate pay off. But...these days life is the only thing I can motivate myself to do for its own sake. Writing? Feh.
PS It should be noted that I went back and revised this entry. I hate how indoctrinated I am.
It bothers me to see that no one has deemed any of my recent entries worthy of comment. As pathetic as it may be to admit, I measure the worth of my entries by how many people comment on them. Yes, I know it's wrong, it's stupid. I've gotten to the point where I don't enjoy writing for the sake of it. I write in order to be read. If people aren't reading, I see no point in writing, and the only way I know people are reading is if they comment.
Writing is not the joy it once was. I thought studying writing at the college level would make me a better writer, and it did. However, it also stole every last ounce of magic from the process. Now I view writing as a task, a specific job that should only be undertaken if one is familiar with the rules. Write more than one draft, nothing is ever perfect the moment it comes out. Labor over word choice. Cut all unecessary text. And for the love of God have at least a basic understanding of spelling and grammar. Obey the rules, only good writing is worth reading, and writing that does not obey the rules is not good.
I can't write for myself anymore mainly because I feel no need to write. I used to live on words. I'd run home from school everyday and write for hours. I'd work on stories, novels, novellas, poems, you name it. Not because there was anyone I wanted to read it, but because I had all these stories inside that I had to get out. Because the act of putting words on paper made me happy. These days, I don't see any point in writing. I know there isn't a literary magazine on the planet that will accept my work, my profs spent five years making that very clear to me. Not to metion the fact that my work is sophmoric and self-absorbed. All I do is write about myself, forgetting that no one really gives a shit about what happens to me. I'm just a girl, like any other girl, and that hardly makes the stories I tell worth reading. So if no one will read, if no one wants the stories, why write? Why exert the effort if there will be no pay off? Those are my thoughts on the subject.
I don't see the point in doing things for the sake of them any more. That must sound horribly jaded coming from me. I used to love doing things for their own sake. Why else should we live? We do life for the hell of it, knowing full well there's no ultimate pay off. But...these days life is the only thing I can motivate myself to do for its own sake. Writing? Feh.
PS It should be noted that I went back and revised this entry. I hate how indoctrinated I am.
(insert comment here)
Date: 2005-02-23 12:04 am (UTC)...
Of course your journal is in read-only right now. To copy paste!
no subject
Date: 2005-02-23 12:29 am (UTC)M.
no subject
Date: 2005-02-23 02:48 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-02-23 05:31 am (UTC)I havent written anything creative since graduation either, save for a bit of emotionally inspired poetry back in Sept. 2002. Other than that, total drought. I can't even bring myself to start something because I constantly question the first line.
I've NEVER been big on revising though, unless it's for grammar/spelling
taut-o-logical
Date: 2005-02-23 05:45 am (UTC)---
Now that (practically) have my grand English literature degree I just can't read much anymore.
no subject
Date: 2005-02-23 09:37 pm (UTC)Plus, I haven't been around for a while.
If you write, (stories, not entries) I promise I want to read them.
no subject
Date: 2005-02-23 10:03 pm (UTC)Yikes
Date: 2005-02-24 04:44 am (UTC)~Ariel
it is heather
Date: 2005-03-03 08:47 pm (UTC)take care
and I luv u a lot ms cariƱo earth
luv the flor of heathbar air