BrotherDave
06-11-2005, 10:28 AM
ProfAllen started such a good thread that I thot I'd continue it here, fresh.
Are we happy with what we write? Should we be happy, at first or eventually? Should we ever be happy? What is good and what is carp?
(carp is a scavenger fish which some people eat, but most of the world use as fertilizer)
I have found
my books, poems, prose, and ditties
are never finished.
Cut and paste is never satisfied.
New words are always tempting me
to exclude others and include them
as old words challenge me to make them
smarter, sharper, and more alive.
"Born to Do" has been in my files for several years.
I wrote it. Put it away. Pullled out. Rewrote it. Put it way. Pulled out. Rewrote it. And it continues. Now, after sharing the story with you all, I have new reasons to rewrite, but I'm not sure I have justification yet to publish it. It still never seems to have enough life. Yet, I continue to write and hope because I'm pressed on by an inner promise of eventual success.
And I read other stories and wonder how the author ever arrived at the "finished" level. I think I may be dead and gone, and my work may have to be discovered by archeologists before it is ever published. Sigh. Like other artists I may never see true appreciation for my work. Or should I even hope for it? I dunno.
But I'll keep writing, and editing, and filing, and waiting. Insecurity seems to be a writer's lot.
brotherdave
Are we happy with what we write? Should we be happy, at first or eventually? Should we ever be happy? What is good and what is carp?
(carp is a scavenger fish which some people eat, but most of the world use as fertilizer)
I have found
my books, poems, prose, and ditties
are never finished.
Cut and paste is never satisfied.
New words are always tempting me
to exclude others and include them
as old words challenge me to make them
smarter, sharper, and more alive.
"Born to Do" has been in my files for several years.
I wrote it. Put it away. Pullled out. Rewrote it. Put it way. Pulled out. Rewrote it. And it continues. Now, after sharing the story with you all, I have new reasons to rewrite, but I'm not sure I have justification yet to publish it. It still never seems to have enough life. Yet, I continue to write and hope because I'm pressed on by an inner promise of eventual success.
And I read other stories and wonder how the author ever arrived at the "finished" level. I think I may be dead and gone, and my work may have to be discovered by archeologists before it is ever published. Sigh. Like other artists I may never see true appreciation for my work. Or should I even hope for it? I dunno.
But I'll keep writing, and editing, and filing, and waiting. Insecurity seems to be a writer's lot.
brotherdave