(no subject)
I love certain stories (especially Merlin stories) so much. It's so strange to think I could write them and have it go the way I want it to go. I never trust that I'd be able to do it. But maybe! I reread the stories I wrote, and it wasn't torture. I enjoyed it, even.

I don't need to worry about pride. I just need to write things that I would like to read.

It sounds thrilling, actually.

Posted via m.livejournal.com.

I had thoughts all morning that I wanted to write down, and when I have the time, I forget them. Of course!

I wonder how much of the joy of creating things is the sheer pleasure of creativity, and how much is the hope (or reality) of people saying you've done a good job. With the LEGO stuff... At first it was just fun. Then it was fun because I got praise and attention. Then it wasn't fun because I worried about having to live up to the expectations people had.

Now I think: I could make a quick little LEGO illustration for a story, but it will disappoint the Flickr people because it won't be a two-month masterpiece. I'll lose my reputation.

So what? See. There should be no concern for reputation, right?

But if one is not concerned about reputation, why post online? Why not build/write/create your masterpieces in your own private void?

Anthony de Mello said that as soon as you feel good about a compliment, you are opening yourself up to feel bad about a criticism (or even just absence of praise). It's a valid point.

So why share things online?

There are reasons that go beyond wanting to be seen as clever. Right?

I love seeing what others create. It is entertaining. So it's good that others create, right? So why wouldn't it be good to do it yourself?

Madeleine L'Engle talked about it being important to always feed the lake of creativity (or something like that). Some people were great rivers, others tiny trickles, but the important thing was to keep adding to the lake (the total of human creations). I should go find that book and read more about why.

If no one ever shared, no one could admire and learn and get better and add more.

But what makes something worthy to be added?

And is it possible to divorce the joy of creativity from the addictive pleasure of paying yourself on the back for being clever?

Maybe that's why I've read about some Christian artists saying it's not them, really, but the spirit working through them?

I don't know. I think I'll always be held back by pride. If you let yourself feel good about praise, you open yourself up to feeling bad about a lack of praise. Then you get nervous and anxious and lose the joy of creation.

Or something like that.

Does writing fiction always feel like jumping off a cliff? I finished and posted two stories in December, the first I've finished since 24 years ago or so...

And the comments were nice. I cannot complain.

But now I feel completely incompetent again. A beginner who would be foolish to even try.

Brains are so strange! It's so easy to flip from, "hey, I can do this!" to "I suck and should just go jump off a bridge".

Does it ever get easier?

(no subject)
I can apparently spit out lots of words of a story at a fairly good rate. Editing them is a tragedy. Every seemingly good idea that I had is mocking me by suddenly turning in crappy drivel. Ugh. I also completely lose the ability to tell the good parts from the bad. This is why I can never finish anything. (help!)


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