As my confidence a week ago receded like the sea after high tide, leaving all manner of discarded shit washed upon the bleak shore of my immense capacity for self-loathing, I received a blessing of good will from my fellow scribes. A life-saving breath forced into the battered body of my writing dreams, from a group of friends I cherish though in many cases I don't know their real names.
One particular friend, and indeed my oldest writing partner, reached out and took my hand, pulling me from the soggy, sticking sand. He didn't dust me off, but gave me the strength to do it myself, in the form of inspiration to try harder.
Perhaps it was my fault I fell from the vessel of security and success. Maybe I just got too close to the gunwale during a storm, and fell overboard on accident. It's also entirely possible I jumped of my own volition, to save myself from the eventual breaking of timbers that portends many good sailors' deaths.
But I've made it to the rocky shore and yet live. Many thanks to you all for your assistance. I guess I'm not the swimmer I thought myself to be.
Either way, I'd like to take this moment to talk about inspiration. A new look. A new lease on writing, if not life itself.
Scribes, share with me your darkest hours. Those times you thought about quitting. The times you counted yourself out by count and didn't have a glimmer of hope to which to cling.
Tell me what reinvigorated you.
For me, it was my friend suggesting I finish the shit out of my novel quickly and then open a new and exciting work, one that has been in a dusty folder on my computer since its conception. He suggested I try something new and read a book to prepare me for the juggling of my own version of an opportunistic gang of misfits. He suggested The Lies of Locke Lamora. And now I'm back in it.
I spent two full days consuming that book, digesting every detail of descriptive writing and plot-spinning. And today, I have a new energy to accomplish what I set out to do when I began the edit of my life a year ago.
Reading a good book. That was my inspiration. It told me I CAN do this.
One particular friend, and indeed my oldest writing partner, reached out and took my hand, pulling me from the soggy, sticking sand. He didn't dust me off, but gave me the strength to do it myself, in the form of inspiration to try harder.
Perhaps it was my fault I fell from the vessel of security and success. Maybe I just got too close to the gunwale during a storm, and fell overboard on accident. It's also entirely possible I jumped of my own volition, to save myself from the eventual breaking of timbers that portends many good sailors' deaths.
But I've made it to the rocky shore and yet live. Many thanks to you all for your assistance. I guess I'm not the swimmer I thought myself to be.
Either way, I'd like to take this moment to talk about inspiration. A new look. A new lease on writing, if not life itself.
Scribes, share with me your darkest hours. Those times you thought about quitting. The times you counted yourself out by count and didn't have a glimmer of hope to which to cling.
Tell me what reinvigorated you.
For me, it was my friend suggesting I finish the shit out of my novel quickly and then open a new and exciting work, one that has been in a dusty folder on my computer since its conception. He suggested I try something new and read a book to prepare me for the juggling of my own version of an opportunistic gang of misfits. He suggested The Lies of Locke Lamora. And now I'm back in it.
I spent two full days consuming that book, digesting every detail of descriptive writing and plot-spinning. And today, I have a new energy to accomplish what I set out to do when I began the edit of my life a year ago.
Reading a good book. That was my inspiration. It told me I CAN do this.
Sage
Myth Weaver
Auror