rachelatarms (rachelatarms) wrote,
rachelatarms
rachelatarms

"Don't mind me, I'm just having a villainous breakdown!"

...well, I'm not. I'm having a writerly breakdown, but really—have you noticed that so many villains have random breakdowns before they turn into The Big Bad Guy, and no one seems to notice? It's kind of ridiculous. I mean, dude. The entire story could've been prevented if the villains had a nice chat, tea, and pudding after their breakdowns.

Er. That was off-topic. 

(Mmm. Pudding. Rice, chocolate, vanilla, bread...)

I'm having a rather difficult phase with my writing. As I pointed out below, I had a shiny new idea—but it's been a few days, and there is still no plot for that shiny new idea no matter how many articles I read on the four-act structure and character development and so on. I love my being verbs, because I like making statements about what the essence of something is (see what I did there?), and I like the passive for no other reason than because I've translated it so very many times in Latin. I have a couple of projects that I love  to death, even though they're positively riddled with cliches, and even though I know I need to rewrite the first draft of one of them already because of how radically the story has changed since I first began. I can tell you what I love in heroes and in villains and in plots, and what makes them truly work, but I can't apply it. I haven't actually 'finished' a project since June of last year; that one now sits and rots in the dark galleries of my computer files. I can't come up with brilliant ideas in the snap of a finger. 

In short, I'm really tired of sucking so much. 

I love writing. I love storytelling. If, by some wild chance undoubtedly occurring only when the planets (Pluto included) are in full alignment and the world is entirely at peace coinciding with Friday the 13th and the transit of Venus, I could actually write something worth reading—something that people really liked—I would be blissfully happy. But—instead—I keep turning out Stories of Ultimate Crappiness. It's really amazing, actually...one would think that eventually I'd manage to finish at least one draft with a decent structure and humbly interesting characters that might, conceivably, have a chance of being enjoyed by someone, but instead...

But it's not as though I can simply stop writing and walk away. I think I would go thoroughly insane within a short period of time if I tried. I value stories far too much to give up creating them; it's the quality that bothers me. I'm trying, of course—I try very hard, and maybe too hard. I know there are critique partners and other such mystical creatures out there, but to seek a critique partner implies that your work has, y'know, a semblance of plot or uniqueness. I think that if I manage to snare some poor person into critiquing my work, they would be wasting their time. 

Okay. I'm going to go find tea, and chocolate, and a warm, fuzzy blanket.

Stupid WIPs. *sniffle* I just want you to be good. *sniffle* Where on earth is my tea? 

(The author is not to be blamed for the significant amount of angst and whinage in this post. Well, actually, she is, but asks you not to blame her anyway.)
Tags: control, writing
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