Well, if you know me, then you know that this would be my third thread for my writings. If you don't know me, as in your a new(er) user, than this is my third thread for my writings. This is a fairly akward situation, so I feel the need to explain:
I am making this final thread (and yes, final), because I realised something during my Hiatus. When I 'quit' AG, I was fairly discusted with my works. I absolutely loathed them. And after a while, I realized something: that it didn't matter. Who cares what I thought about them. What matters is what OTHERs think about them. I wouldn't be able to grow as a writer if my angst over my own works led people to assume that they WERE bad.
While some of them genuinely reeked, there were others that were genuinely good. And as I looked back over my first writings, I realized another thing too: that I had gotten better. That my works had gone from a slipshod, unbalanced affair to a generarrly more organized shipshod affair.
So I am not making this thread to be unique in having *3* threads about my work, or for vanity, or anything like that. I am making it so that you, the reader, will look at my works, and will hopefully tell me how to get better.
Gosh, you certainly have a melancholic point of view about this...
With pessimism, you're never surprised: When the worst happens, its expected. When something good happens, then something isn't finished working itself bad.
wow your good.
Thanks.
great poetry you could win a lot of points at my school -.-
The words that used to come quite freely from my mind have now ceased to be. Things I used to draw insipration from, music, poets, authors, nature, life, have ceased to yield anything fruitful. Any attempt to write just leaves with a few lines, and despair. Nothing seems to work; nothing seems to flow; nothing seems to be alive
Worse still, the few times I manage to get lines to aggree with each other, they just seemed forced, dead. Like cinder blocks hap-hazardly thrown together. Even as I write this, the unfamiliarity seems all too familiar. Should I retire? Or pray that my friend decides to return?
I feel like a chocolate easter bunny; Promising on the outside, hollow in the middle.
The Artist; Deep and, somehow, fits the story of many writers. Rain Haiku; Deep, VERY deep, even in it's translated self. A text that starts with "I want to live life and never grow old"; Nice, old fashioned, poetry.
Anyway, your "Reflections" series of writings are your deep thoughts in words form?
Should I retire? Or pray that my friend decides to return?
Don't you give up! Go for a walk in the park, take a rest, do something! The inspiration will reach you! You're a great writer!
The Artist; Deep and, somehow, fits the story of many writers. Rain Haiku; Deep, VERY deep, even in it's translated self. A text that starts with "I want to live life and never grow old"; Nice, old fashioned, poetry.
Thanks. Translated into portugese, I would presume?
Anyway, your "Reflections" series of writings are your deep thoughts in words form?
Correct.
The inspiration will reach you!
Said I a month ago.
I'm getting the name changed, to something that I find ironically humourous. 'A Marble Fawn' will be the new name. A 'fawn' is a young deer, and a rather agile one at that. Yet its made of marble, and cannot move.
