i was down stairs and discovered my stash of old stories hidden away in a box of folders, the material dating 6-11 years ago. this might not sound that big of a deal, but when you're 23, it is! i sat down and read through it all, the pieces varying in length, view points, genres and draft stages. i could tell instantly how much i'd improved (yay for me!) but at the same time i wanted to cry. i was absoloutly crushed. i went back upstairs, flicked on my lovely pink laptop (oh yeah, its pink!!!) and read through my work from these last few months (my first lot since i stopped six years ago)
it was absoloutly passionless. there's no heart in any of it. i'm writing a love story that has no heart, and you can feel it.
i'd always thought my weakness was in cluttering my work with descriptions - so i worked at it and made it better, leaving SPAG as my main offender (which you can probably tell by this post ) It wasn't until i'd had something else to compare my current stuff with that i realised the state it was in!
It was easy to connect with my old work and feel the emotion behind the words but a robot may aswell be writing my latest stuff - at least it would get the spag right! i know a lot of stuff has happened over the last few years, and i've been working on not being so emotionally distant from the family and friends around me, but i honestly didn't realise how badly this had affected all of me - even my writing.
so now i'm feeling motivated to try harder to express myself and let myself feel things in everyday life... if its showing this badly in my writing, i shudder to think what i've been showing physically to the people around me. i even called my mother to talk... but she didn't answer the phone... but hey, i get a point for trying right?
anyway - moral of todays story - i thought i knew my flaws as a writer but i was wrong. my personal life DOES have an affect on my writing style (as much as i hate to admit it)
AND
better me = better writing.
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