I was reminded recently of how badly I want to be a writer. A real writer. An author. I want a novel on my desk with my name on it.
I’ve started so many pieces. I’ve gotten pretty far into half of those. I’ve never technically finished any of them. Sigh.
I just don’t have the motivation or the organization. I used to put a lot of work into something and then find it was never worth reading by anyone except me. I felt like it was a waste of time. I’d grow bored or discouraged. I’m just not an author. I’m creative. I can write short stories, and I can create wild ideas for long stories, but I can’t seem to write them. Everything moves too quickly and I find myself covering long periods of time in just a few pages, thus finishing entire dramas in twenty pages.
The closest I’ve come was last year. I wrote 1/5 of a story or so, but realized I only had about twenty five pages, and 125 total pages total does not equal a novel. It was titled “soy sauce and lattes” and it was more informational with a side of personality rather than strictly for entertainment.
Some people think short stores are the way to go. But they feel… pointless. Why get excited about a voice or a character just to have the story over in 10 minutes time? Talk about a heartbreak. I’ll still consider it though.
I can’t pinpoint exactly why my stories move too quickly through the pages. Maybe my characters don’t have enough depth, or my scenery lacks detail. The next time I have a spark of creativity I’ll try to focus. Hopefully that time will come soon.
The story of Sara. She loved to write creative stories until she bumped her head. Now she works with legal terminology, dates and facts. Her career causes her to put her creativity in a cage from eight to five. When it comes time for inspiration she thinks of recipes and color schemes, but never characters or plots. Her motivation for creating chapters and scenes are dwindling and falling behind. She if left with her voice, her thoughts, her love and her office files. The end.