I've recently posted some of my poetry on Deviantart.com. (Yes, there goes my dream of actually getting paid to write drivel.) I claim to be a poet, but I never said that I was a good one.
Enjoy.
Friday, October 21, 2011
Thursday, October 13, 2011
For the Hell of It
Lately, I've found myself writing for just the hell of it. Or, to put it more nicely: Just writing to write, to have fun, create, explore, etc.
It's been a long time since I've done that.
It's been a long time since I've written something that was just for my own pleasure. A long time since I've wrote something without worrying how my critique partners would react to such-and-such.
It's nice.
It's freeing.
It makes me wonder why I ever stopped.
Oh, I've been writing. I've been revising, too. But a lot of the time I've felt stifled or constrained. I've always had to abide by rules and suggestions and the worry if the story I was writing was publishable or not.
It's wonderful to not care sometimes.
And maybe MY story is complete crap. Maybe it is unpublishable junk rife with cliches and filler words and too many adjectives. BUT IT IS SO LOVELY. It makes my heart sing. It reminds me that THIS--the process of just putting raw words on paper--is why I write. THIS is what I've been struggling these past months to regain. To write just to write. To write just because. To write, write, write and no longer CARE that so-and-so editor/agent/critique partner might not like it.
You should try it sometime.
It's been a long time since I've done that.
It's been a long time since I've written something that was just for my own pleasure. A long time since I've wrote something without worrying how my critique partners would react to such-and-such.
It's nice.
It's freeing.
It makes me wonder why I ever stopped.
Oh, I've been writing. I've been revising, too. But a lot of the time I've felt stifled or constrained. I've always had to abide by rules and suggestions and the worry if the story I was writing was publishable or not.
It's wonderful to not care sometimes.
And maybe MY story is complete crap. Maybe it is unpublishable junk rife with cliches and filler words and too many adjectives. BUT IT IS SO LOVELY. It makes my heart sing. It reminds me that THIS--the process of just putting raw words on paper--is why I write. THIS is what I've been struggling these past months to regain. To write just to write. To write just because. To write, write, write and no longer CARE that so-and-so editor/agent/critique partner might not like it.
You should try it sometime.
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