I want to write. A lot. I follow many writing suggestions to see where they will lead. Many suggestions lead to good writing. The suggestion to read good literature is a sound one. Reading good literature makes me step up my craft, but it is also good literature that shuts me down. Cormac McCarthy and now Elizabeth Hay.
After the first two pages of Late Nights on Air I sighed and closed the book. Oh, I will read it. How could I not? But read it and write? How to continue when my own novel has suddenly lost its lustre? A few weeks ago it was a good story. And it will likely be a good story again, but right now it looks juvenile, contrived and quite naked. Sigh. Read and weep or write on?
I’ll keep writing and keep reading, but the critical voices shouting inside my head that I have to write through are more strident after reading The Road and trying to begin Late Nights on Air. Those two books are the first two reasons I could site for not writing.
The third reason is a bit different and I haven’t quite wrapped my head around this one.
I blog to enter the online writing community – to present myself, connect, interact, and hopefully to entertain and delight future agents and editors. Here’s the rub: I don’t write here anything like my prose or poetry. I know many others who also blog don’t sound like the work they are promoting… so… how does an agent or editor get a feel for the writer and their capacity when the writing styles are so disparate? The quandary also includes this possible solution: post the good stuff – creative literary work… another rub… So much work goes out to journals and contests where the work must never have been published.
I could probably find more reasons not to write, but that’s enough for today. I don’t need reasons to write. I just love it… that’s all I have to remember. No blood-letting required.