Creative drain

Creative flurries don’t last. I spent the entire afternoon trying to revive my site, but in the end I realized there’s no point in me having one. The most I would do is create layouts or upload pictures. It seems like such a waste. Damn. I was so excited about getting everything running again, then I had to attend this lecture on Plato’s Dialogues. Maybe those sort of things are creative vampires. I’m so disappointed. I thought I was getting my groove back. *sigh*

Inadequate

I’m looking at my old stories and all of them seem juvenile. I don’t know if I’ve lost the desire to write or that I’m just blocked by the fact that I haven’t written in ages. Aiya. Writing is something that needs to be nurtured.The flow has stopped or only drops remain. I think it’s been over a year since I last wrote something. It’s on my old computer. I wish I had it, I think it was actually worth something. Maybe a transition period between crappy high school writing and college level writing? Frustation to the maximum. I need to read actual fiction more. This Greek literature, while somewhat interesting, doesn’t have style. It’s just translations. BAH.

You complete me

My life is now complete.

…Now that I’ve vacuumed my carpet for the first time in seven weeks.

Another Stage

Another setting, another place, another life that’s gone to waste.

HOHO, so dramatic. NOT. I haven’t written a journal entry in ages, here or anywhere else. Probably because I’m at a relatively content stage in my life. Wow. I guess I can’t get rid of the pessimism in me.

So I’m looking at my old story ALMOST PERFECT and I can’t bring myself to finish it. There’s only one chapter left for me to write, but I can’t think of an ending that doesn’t seem cliché. Why does it seem like there are only two endings in the world: a good one and a bad one? I think I’m past the stage of writing romance stories. They seem so trifle, part of another life that wished for things that can’t exist. There I go being pessimistic again, but I’m actually happy. I can’t finish this story. I want to write something real. Or something that could be real. I’m not as focused on my writing as I used to be. School work is taking over my life, but I have to keep the writing up if I’m serious about being a writer. I feel like I’m at a turning point in my life; whatever I decide within these next few years will set the course of my future. Is that how it works?

I wish it didn’t.