ER 2: Writing

         The writing. . . It always seemed like my one true gift, the one thing I could do right, but I was apparently wrong, just like always. It seems like every time I get a good idea, I see it used by someone else! I can't make up stories. I just use one by another author and modify it. Most of the time I don't even know I'm doing it. I'll just be reading something, and I'll think to myself, "Hey, this sounds a little like my story!" Then I'll read more, and think, "Shit! this is exactly like my story!" It never fails!
         Not to mention the fact that I don't even have my own personal writing style. One week, my style will mimic Anne McCaffrey's. The next, it is reminiscent of Tolkien. I honestly don't know how to write; stylizing your narratives is not part of the elementary school Language Arts curriculum. When it comes to writing, I honestly do not know who I am. Trying to write a novel without a formalized style is like trying to drive on a highway without a posted speed limit. Some cars rocket past at seventy, eighty miles per hour, while other vehicles crawl along at twenty. Utter confusion. That is how my mind works.
         Worst of all, when you get right down to it, my stories are agonizingly similar. Same basic storyline, same basic scenario, same basic archeotypical characters. The only things that really differ are names, times, and places. Other than that, each story is one and the same as its predecessor and successor. No variation. No creativity. Nothing but the same failure over and over again. All I do is remodify it repeatedly, hoping to get it to the point of success.
         However, I have been playing this writing game for a very long time, and I can tell you that as of yetthere have been no successes. Not one. As time runs out for me, the chances grow steadily more remote. I remain a failure to this day. It is likely I will remain one to my death.

October 23, 2003, 7:07 PM