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Indefinate hiatus
16 years ago
General
I recently had reason to go looking through the first stories I wrote. Not the ones posted on FA or anywhere else on the Internet. These are old school folders crammed full of stories handwritten in pencil on notebook paper. These things are old, going back 25-30 years. And while rereading them I've come to realize a few things.
The first thing is that I've come a very long way in my writing abilities. When I scribbled these things between classes at high school, I had very little knowledge of how a good story is written. To put it mildly, they suck.
There's more to it than that, however. As I read my old, atrocious work, I remembered the passion I had then for writing. I loved creating characters and having them go through all kinds of crazy adventures. Of course I had to love it because no one else would. I was writing for an audience of one, myself.
When I started to compare my old junk to my signature work, 'Fate also smiles', I realized something else. They had something in common. They were written with passion.
In 1999, I was discovering the delights of writing for people who had the same interests as I did. Folks in the furry fandom embraced me and my work and fueled my desire to see where my writing could take me. It was heady, powerful stuff. When I was working on 'Fate', the words came easily and I had a clear vision of what I wanted to tell my readers. When I finished and posted it, the response made me giddy. It was an emotional high that I will never forget.
After 'Fate' I wanted to write other stories, different stories. I tried to stretch myself by writing things I hadn't seen anyone else write. I loved what I was doing. The response from readers told me they did too.
By 2003, my personal life had stagnated. It was to the point I needed to make major changes. I moved, found new work, and tried to continue writing. To my dismay, I found it was much harder than it had been. The desire to write was still there, but the passion, the joy, was gone. I started one project after another, and each wound up sitting in its own folder, unfinished.
When Poetigress started her Thursday Prompt journals, I joined in the hopes it would rekindle my passion for writing. I would take baby steps, write one page stories and go from there. It lasted only a few months. The passion quickly dwindled until the prompts became an assignment, something I had to work at to complete. The Tux stories were the last gasp. I tried desperately to recapture that magic I felt with my earlier work. Tux was special to me and others. But soon he too became work, and the words would no longer come.
I feel quite empty now. The desire is still there, but it hardly ever makes itself known. I no longer stop what I'm doing to jot down notes for my current project, or ideas for a future one. This isn't a block. This is a condition. I suspect it's tied to the deep dissatisfaction I have for my personal life. I won't rant or ask for pity, but I've put myself in a place where writing simply won't happen. I don't know how to fix it. I don't know if I should try.
I'm not even sure it matters.
I can't imagine myself not being a writer. I've been scribbling stuff since I was 8 years old. Every aspect of my childhood was touched by it. My years as a young adult were most definitely influenced by it. Even when I stopped writing for a year or more, I expected I would go back to it. I still expect it now, but I don't know for certain.
So I'm dropping all of it for now. Until the passion returns, there's no point in trying to force myself to do something I can't.
I owe an apology to Kathmandu and Metassus. I told them I'd write stories for them, then didn't deliver. I'm sorry for that.
I'm not leaving FA or anything like that. I love the people here and the wonderful things they create. But I won't be one of the ones doing the creating. At least not for a while.
The first thing is that I've come a very long way in my writing abilities. When I scribbled these things between classes at high school, I had very little knowledge of how a good story is written. To put it mildly, they suck.
There's more to it than that, however. As I read my old, atrocious work, I remembered the passion I had then for writing. I loved creating characters and having them go through all kinds of crazy adventures. Of course I had to love it because no one else would. I was writing for an audience of one, myself.
When I started to compare my old junk to my signature work, 'Fate also smiles', I realized something else. They had something in common. They were written with passion.
In 1999, I was discovering the delights of writing for people who had the same interests as I did. Folks in the furry fandom embraced me and my work and fueled my desire to see where my writing could take me. It was heady, powerful stuff. When I was working on 'Fate', the words came easily and I had a clear vision of what I wanted to tell my readers. When I finished and posted it, the response made me giddy. It was an emotional high that I will never forget.
After 'Fate' I wanted to write other stories, different stories. I tried to stretch myself by writing things I hadn't seen anyone else write. I loved what I was doing. The response from readers told me they did too.
By 2003, my personal life had stagnated. It was to the point I needed to make major changes. I moved, found new work, and tried to continue writing. To my dismay, I found it was much harder than it had been. The desire to write was still there, but the passion, the joy, was gone. I started one project after another, and each wound up sitting in its own folder, unfinished.
When Poetigress started her Thursday Prompt journals, I joined in the hopes it would rekindle my passion for writing. I would take baby steps, write one page stories and go from there. It lasted only a few months. The passion quickly dwindled until the prompts became an assignment, something I had to work at to complete. The Tux stories were the last gasp. I tried desperately to recapture that magic I felt with my earlier work. Tux was special to me and others. But soon he too became work, and the words would no longer come.
I feel quite empty now. The desire is still there, but it hardly ever makes itself known. I no longer stop what I'm doing to jot down notes for my current project, or ideas for a future one. This isn't a block. This is a condition. I suspect it's tied to the deep dissatisfaction I have for my personal life. I won't rant or ask for pity, but I've put myself in a place where writing simply won't happen. I don't know how to fix it. I don't know if I should try.
I'm not even sure it matters.
I can't imagine myself not being a writer. I've been scribbling stuff since I was 8 years old. Every aspect of my childhood was touched by it. My years as a young adult were most definitely influenced by it. Even when I stopped writing for a year or more, I expected I would go back to it. I still expect it now, but I don't know for certain.
So I'm dropping all of it for now. Until the passion returns, there's no point in trying to force myself to do something I can't.
I owe an apology to Kathmandu and Metassus. I told them I'd write stories for them, then didn't deliver. I'm sorry for that.
I'm not leaving FA or anything like that. I love the people here and the wonderful things they create. But I won't be one of the ones doing the creating. At least not for a while.
-Dyne D. Solweaver
Thanks again.
*sticks her tongue out at him....
the way I see it is this: you are a writer. you can't escape that, nor will you.
stop looking.
I read a story about a haunting - there was a mother ghost and a child. The solution was brought to these spirits by an outsider who simply told the mother - stay in one place and be patient; your child will come. Both had been searching for the other and the search had kept them in different parts of the house at all times - away from each other. Within the hour, the child's spirit came into the room and the pair was re-united.
that is my advice to you Wire.
*gives him a very large hug and cold nose kisses...
V.
Thank you, Ms. V. I think that is very good advice. I shall wait a while and see what comes my way. I am, quite honestly, weary of the chase.
*nuzzles*
I think Vixyy's already said the most important thing. There are a lot of things about writing that can be taught, and a few that can't. The thing that can't is to be a person who looks at the world like a writer, like an artist. Those of us who create (whatever form those creations take) can't ever turn that off, even if we shut down the expression of it for a long time.
I think, also, that we all have cycles, some longer than others. Ten years ago, I would never have believed anyone who told me that I would go more than a year (now more than four years, I think) without writing poetry. Poetry was everything then. By the same token, until a couple weeks ago, I hadn't drawn anything for over a year, and nothing seriously for longer than that. For many years of my life, that would have been unthinkable as well. What I'm realizing, though, is that those things don't necessarily go away forever. It just may be the start of a cycle whose end arcs too far away to see at the moment.
So I don't have any real answers, but given what you've said, I would say this: Be gentle with yourself, about this and about everything else right now. Take time, enjoy what you can enjoy, endure what you can't, refill yourself with what you need to be whole, and when you're ready again, the words will come.
However it works out I want to thank you for your support and for giving us the Thursday prompts. It means a lot to us.
*smiles and gives her a hug...
V.
There are no easy solutions, at least none that I've found, but perhaps taking a break is the right thing to do. Time for rest, relaxation, and maybe a recharge.
I wish you luck and hope you find a way to rekindle the passion for writing that you one had.
And now I have to admit a most embarrassing fact. You've been watching me and I didn't realize you were the same JonaWolf on Furtopia that I've been keeping my eye on. *facepalms* I shall fix that forthwith.
Thanks again for your kind words and understanding.
I'm happy to hear that you enjoy Wolf River but unfortunately that story has been on a bit of a hiatus of late. Wrote myself into a deep hole there and it's taken some time collect enough ideas to begin the long climb up and out of it.
My problems with writing are not so much with my creativity, which is still around somewhere, some days, but more with twenty different kinds of unrelenting distractions. Writing time has been short and coinciding inspiration very rare in recent times.
Now, I have no intention of giving up on any of my long term projects, they might just have to wait until my life settles down a bit, or until winter keeps me indoors more than out.
Best of luck with the writing...
Good luck with your own writing. I'm sure I'll still be here when you get going again, too.