Confusion

[saitaina]

Originally published at Memoirs of a Nobody. You can comment here or there.

I feel like I’m losing my mind. I can’t stop thinking about that damn piercing, wanting it back in a way I’ve never wanted something.

I only had it for a damn day, why is it clinging to me like that?

I feel like a part of me is missing without it. I don’t get it, it’s a bloody hole in my mouth, a wound, and yet I long for it.

Grrr.

So bloody annoying.

An an un-related note, someone’s words are haunting me and I have no idea why. An old friend told me the other day that my writing hasn’t improved since I started years ago, that I’m repeating the same things.

I want to deny it but I’m not sure if I can. I had hoped, that after seven years, my writing would have improved, at least a bit, but now I sit, staring at my words wondering if she’s right and I’m not changing at all, not getting better.

I know my genre’s repeate, romance, angst, melodrama, but that’s usual isn’t it? Writers write what they like.

But the actual quality of my writing…that should have improved, but now…if it hasn’t, then what’s the point? If Broken Shards (2001) is really exactly like Magician’s Waltz (current) in terms of quality and talent…then really, what’s the point of continuing. If I can’t grow…

My editor dispares of me. There’s always something that I fail at in a chapter until she wants to hit me (if I already haven’t annoyed her with my plot ideas). I want so badly to be a good writer, to weave a tale that will capture people and give them a ride for however long it takes, but after so many discussions and arguments over plot details I’m wondering if my ideas are just pathetically mundane and stupid.

I’m jealous of her. She has the talent I’ve always hoped I had, but feared I would never obtain. Her thoughts on a plot, her comments mean a great deal to me when it comes to my writing and I want so badly to impress her, to get to her like where my plots are going, but I feel as if she seems my work as bland pieces that she’s forced to read and correct.

There’s a whole group like her, writers that I’m awed by and wish to live up to. It’s been a long time since I found a group of writers like them, hard working, brilliant, able to craft such stories that make you wish it would never end.

We all write for the same fandom, and as far as I can tell, have been writing for the same amount of time in our lives (online and off), but I still feel like a child, waiting for the adults approval.

I’ve spent so much time, laboring over each word, each line, that the joy is leaving me. I no longer simply write, letting the words flow, accepting the twists and turns without disecting them and weighing them. I’ve spent so much time that it’s eating away at everything, I can’t make a graphic, read a book, simply veg out without thinking of what I need to finish.

I can’t even find the damn time to return to Morbid’s and my story, which is almost important to me as “Magician’s Waltz”.

*sigh* I need chocolate.