A Writer’s Lament…

I hesitate to call myself a writer, because the only things I write are poetry and fanfic. And poetry -especially my poetry- doesn’t really count, in my opinion. Yet I can’t deny that I write, and that this writing is an important part of me, so I suppose I can be called a writer of sorts.

Writing is a constant struggle for me, in more ways than one. To begin, there is the need to write.
I would compare it to how a child feels when it’s in the toy aisle of a store and it sees a toy it truly, really, desperately wants. Because their worlds are still small and protected, children’s wants in life are simple but honest. In that moment the want for that toy is like an all-encompassing need, and it feels as if it is of capital importance that it comes into the child’s possession. The need to write feels like that to me. I would honestly like to kick a tantrum from time to time, because just as a child can’t always get the toy it wants, so can I not always write what I want. Not because I am restricted by law or surroundings, but because of plain, simple inability.

Which brings me to the second problem. The inability to write what I want.
Even now, I find it difficult to express in words what exactly I mean. You can tell I’m not much of a writer, right? I’m constantly struggling to give the right words to things, to write them as I feel and perceive them… and I think that I fail most of the time. My language isn’t lacking, but my words are. I tell, I don’t show. I don’t manage to write so that others see.

How can I write a story that touches someone? How can I write a story that is relatable? The only genre I have ever (mildly) excelled in was humorist fanfic, because word puns and funny references are an easy accessible sort of humor that is mostly oriented at the audience (which has read the books/seen the movies) and not at the in-story characters themselves. I think what I wrote in the genre isn’t bad at all, it’s even rather amusing, but it’s not… well, you know. Anything with depth. And I want depth.
I want to tell stories that move my readers, but every time I try I come no further than cliches, flat emotions, and over-the-top melodrama. I can’t make my characters human. It pains me to admit that the characters in my humor fics, meant to amuse readers and not so much to build believable personae, are more relatable and genuine than any serious character I’ve ever tried to write.

I would give up writing because of my inability and lacking talent, if I didn’t feel this inescapable need to write. As it is however I can’t give it up, and if I’m honest I don’t really want to either.
I often read other people’s stories; they’re “just” fanfic, and yet I’m blown off my feet by the genuine emotions, the relatable thoughts, the meaningful plot line, the spot-on character descriptions… It’s disheartening, because I know I will most likely never write something like that. And still, I won’t let myself give up for some reason. I need to write. I write tripe, and I beat myself up for it, and I write more tripe, and I hate myself for it, but I will keep writing, because I can’t help it. It’s like a compulsion.

If I have one wish concerning my writing, then it is that one day I may write something worth reading, something worth remembering. Something -even if it’s “just” fanfic- that will move the readers. I wish that one day I may find the words to truly write what I mean.

About quantumphysica

My name is QuantumPhysica The Insane, but you can call me QP. I am insane, admitted to a mental hospital in Belgium, and waiting for a decent diagnosis at the moment. Once I was a physics student with goals in life and what more; now I'm simply the patient of Room 93. Ever wondered what life is like in the psychiatric ward? I'll tell you everything you ever wanted to know... I am... particularly twitchy of personality. But I also am genuinely interested in everything. There is nothing that doesn't interest me, really. Everything, from quantum computers to fashion and cars to traveling... I also give advice. On anything. No taboos whatsoever. And I make lists of things...
This entry was posted in Literature and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to A Writer’s Lament…

  1. I have the same problem. When I was younger I used to be able to write amazing stories in no time. That’s not the case now that I’m older.

  2. Pingback: Motivation | We're All Mad Inhere

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s