Archive for March, 2013

(also known as: Hello, this is my first blog post so be nice to me.)

 

I’ve been writing stories a long time, probably since I learned how to write in the first place. You’d think by now it would be easy.

At the ripe old age of seven (Or maybe eight. It’s hard to remember) I finished my first book, a little winner named The Unfunny Clown. I was sure it would be a bestseller someday. My next book, the fantasy epic Sylvia Swan, Queen of Mystic Lake didn’t go nearly so well. I wrote and rewrote the first half of the story over and over again but never managed to finish. Writing has been an uphill battle ever since.

A lot of anthropomorphic animals and a few insects later, I still had trouble finishing stories. I got older. I switched genres. Horror, this time. But the endings continued to elude me. Tricky little buggers.

Eventually, I broke up with writing for reasons that are too long and too boring to explain. I switched to painting. I was decent at art and *gasp* it was shockingly easy to finish things. Not like writing. Writing was hard. Writing required so much work. I was better off with painting.

During my painting years I totally didn’t have any flings with writing. There were absolutely no late night meetings to wrestle with plot points or pretty little visuals. Nope. Not me. You must be thinking of someone else.

But who was I kidding?

I stopped painting “for a little while” and have only looked back once or twice since because, much as I enjoy painting, I’m a writer. I’ve always been a writer. I’ll always be a writer. It frustrates me. I end up googling ridiculous things and wanting to bang my head on the keyboard. Repeatedly. But I still love it. When a character finally comes together or a plot starts to make sense, I love it in a way I’ve never loved anything else.

Someday Writing and I will have our own tumultuous epic. I’ll be swooning on the cover (hopefully they’ll paint me with way better breasts) beside Writing (who hopefully won’t look like Fabio.) And after five hundred pages or so we’ll end up living happily ever after. It’ll be awesome.

Until then I’ll be over here wringing my hands over plot points. With love… and maybe just a little bit of hate. For dramatic tension.

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