I don’t. I always think that most things I write are very scattered. They feel scattered to me anyway, since my mind is pretty much a constant whirlwind of thoughts and emotions and words and ideas.
I find it very hard to put them in any kind of order, which is mostly why I’ve always hated writing essays and probably the only reason why I’ve never gone into academia.
I just…um, I don’t know, actually. It’s like grabbing a few words or sentences or feelings out of midair as they fly by and play around with them until I can come up with something decent, like letter magnets on a fridge or scrabble titles.
It has a lot to do with randomness and chance. Or at least it feels that way to me most of the time.
When it comes to stories I usually spend days, weeks, months thinking about them before even sitting down and trying to write. It’s really bad. I’m still working on that, on increasing my productivity. I hope that the more I do it, the easier it will get.
Okay, first, let’s get one thing clear: there are no rules to be an adult, there’s no manual. You just continue to be yourself and grow and learn and make mistakes and fall down and get up again and somehow you figure things out.
Second, I understand. Look, I STARTED really knowing myself and understand myself around something like 21? Maybe. And then only really started becoming more myself around 23-24. But I’m 28 now and I’ve JUST figured out what I want. And I still have no clue how to go about it. It’s hard. Sometimes, you need time. Sometimes, you need more time than other people. Sometimes, you feel like you need too much time, and people won’t get you and they will tell you to just hurry up already, to figure yourself out, good god why are you being so difficult?
So, you can give in to them, and your own twisted ideas of what you SHOULD be and what you SHOULD do, and be miserable, or you can maybe try to just be yourself as best you can, even if you don’t know exactly what that means, and see where that takes you.
I don’t know what else to say, I’m not really good at this, because I actually don’t really know how to go about these things either. But to be honest, I don’t think most people do. x
September 5, 1774: Caspar David Friedrich is born.Here is a man who has discovered the tragedy of landscape.
“Washington. D.C. One of six National Photo glass negatives from 1921 labeled ‘Krazy Kat,’ showing a group of college-age kids painting and smoking in the yard of what seems to be a club or restaurant. Which has a treehouse.”
I do the same, and I wholeheartedly agree with you.
also: THANK YOU.
(you’re seriously awesome, did you know? xx)
I don’t protect them beyond putting a link-through on the images (I’ve seen some people putting their names on the images as well, so you could do that). But I mean, you can’t put a link-through on text posts so…
The source will generally stay there, unless someone does a repost.
The thing is, if somebody wants to claim it as their own, they will. If they want to copy, they will. It will happen.
So I don’t worry too much about it to be honest, and deal with it if I come across it.
In the end, the sharing part is more important to me than the protecting and keeping safe part. And I like it that way.
Graphite and charcoal on canvas.
It’s an interesting thought I think.
I don’t know. I think for people who create anything in general, there’s always a part of you that knows there’s room for improvement. That it could be better if you practice more, work at it longer, harder, etc.
On the other hand, I think it’s fine, even essential, to have some kind of satisfaction in your work. Something that makes you feel a bit proud, even if you wished it was better. Otherwise, what’s the point? Why keep on doing something that makes you feel miserable?
I think it’s okay sometimes to say, this is not perfect, but it’s the best I can do right now, and it’s not too bad, and I’m actually happy with this, in this moment.
I think it’s okay to accept your own talent. To think, hey I’m actually not too bad at this. But not too much at it keeps you from improving :D
ps. I hate using the word ‘artist’ to describe myself, because I don’t feel like one.
three friends look down from a balcony in New Orleans, 1960 Ernst Haas
That’s all really. I have a hard time writing the stories I really want to write. I worry that my English is not good enough, and I worry that my tales are empty. I just want to write stories. I want to get them published. But I am scared of wanting this because deep down I don’t think I have the talent for it. There are literally hundreds even thousands of people who want/dream of being authors, and I have no clue why I should/would succeed where so many fails.
But at the same time, I don’t know what else I would do, you know? But it’s not enough, it’s not enough to write cute little epistles on tumblr. I mean I like them, I actually do, in a personal kind of way, because I am not actually trying to make them relevant. They’re just little diary entries and such.
But I want and I can’t and I wish and I doubt ALL THE TIME.
I worry about talent, and voice, and that little something that makes people say hey, yes I want to hear what you have to say, that makes people say tell me a story.
Basically, I just think I am not good enough, that I might never be.
But there’s nothing else I really want to do, so I keep on trying to do it, and then I whine about it a lot.
p.s. I sometimes like some of the things I write, but it’s also never enough
p.p.s. I am ENVIOUS of tons of people all the time. This is normal I think. Some people I follow on tumblr have literally made me cry with their talent. I just want to hide in a corner and cry.
ETA: THANK YOU — I am sincerely happy you like what I write and I truly find that encouraging. xx
image from Weaver’s Study Course: Ideas and Techniques by Else Regensteiner. more images here