My struggles in writing that aren’t real problems but I want to talk about them anyways.
For reasons unknown, I barely wrote for an entire year, almost two entire years. My pieces I used to apply to MSA were the first things I had written in that whole time, all pieced together over the span of two-ish months. I actually have in a notebook, somewhere floating around my dorm right now, that had the single thing I wrote worth anything in that entire time.
Writing is pretty sentimental to me, and especially that piece and the subject its on—but I wont share what it is, due to how personal it is. It’s sort of the type of thing that I did love, then, and held very dear to me because it is literally the ONLY thing I could write for that entire portion of my life, even if I don’t care much for it now, or agree with it, or even resonate with it. I realized im a lot more personal than I previously thought, and I do overshare and infodump but its never really about the most deep, personal stuff to me and blah blah blah. I don’t like talking about stuff currently going on in my life, just stuff I did or that did happen in a somewhat comedic lense that cant currently effect me, and I really try to keep my personal thoughts and feelings out of things.
Really bad at explaining that, so I’m just going to jump into my point: I don’t write about my personal life.
Of all of my favorite, most memorable pieces, they were about something or someone else. My Polar Bear Haibun, Rose Oil, Metaphorical, 11:11, Tributaries, Constellations. They’re all great, and I love all of those stories and poems and whatever else so much, but they don’t really like reflect any of my inner beliefs. I think about so much, all the time, and none of it ever makes it into my work. Why is that?
A part of me is embarrassed. Like I’m scared of being wrong, like whatever I say could be taken the wrong way if I don’t over explain, but over explaining takes thought and impact away from other people. I think that’s why I love realism so much. You don’t ever look at someone scratching their nose and think they must think they have something on their face and they’re hiding it. You don’t think about it at all. You don’t think, are they embarrassed? Do they think they have food around their mouth and they’re hiding it?
You don’t ever think if someone’s worried that they’re accidentally flirting by twirling their hair, or if they look overly anxious by bouncing their leg, but these are always things people think about in themselves. You recognize it. It’s a way to hide. Or, maybe, forgetting to brush your teeth because you’re in a rush so you never stand to close to someone, or you’re worried if you missed a spot when brushing your hair and if you look a little crazy. If you’re like me, maybe your septum is crooked. Fix it. Oh, maybe your classes are lopsided. Are they too high? You get to say things, do things, that people never ever want or think of talking about. I think that’s because it’s so normal to you, but do you ever think about other people doing it? If you are, you’re incredibly vain, and probably judgmental. I know I’m judgmental.
But, in relation to that, I get too embarrassed to write about my personal life. I know that, realistically, there are probably entire communities full of people who think exactly how I do, or look at the world the same, or think about the same hyper-realistic things in art like I do, but who ever tells someone im terrified I have something in my teeth so I’ve been trying to look at my reflection in this one-sided glass window but the shade it too brown and I cant see and now im trying not to cry because that’s somehow worse.
It’s easier to keep my thoughts to myself than it is to share them, but at the same time I know that I’m not putting my best work out, because I’m not being genuine. But, I also feel like if I were to get extremely personal in my work, especially if that work was for literary, I would have to explain everything behind it and how it makes me feel and I DON’T do how things make me feel. I’d feel like I was venting in explaining why I wrote something, even if the memory is really happy or whatever. I also feel like if my short stories were any more personal then I’d end up, like, going 1000 and 2000 words over the limit instead of my usual 300-400 (sorry Dr Alexis). Or something.
This is danny’s (poor) attempt at discussing his issues with writing, and yes, before anyone says it or thinks it, I know that writing doesn’t HAVE to be personal. I just would like mine to be more so, I guess, even if I don’t exactly know how to do that. Dats all. I feel like I haven’t even said anything omg.
