I miss when writing isn't such a chore. Its all I've been doing the past eight months. Write. And as my discipline dictates, I have had to write like a schmuck. Clarity and logic has killed the aesthetic. I am told it will come back. I am told that if I retain my 'voice' amidst all the disciplinary browbeating, then it means I am ready. Whatever.
Tens of thousands of words chucked. If I had known it would be this brutal, I'd have spent more time writing just for shits and giggles. When have my words become so precious? I would spend a whole day, 9-10 hours, sitting in front of the damn computer. A day's work will yield 500 words. 800 to 1,000 on really good days. I am told it is normal.
There is no room for poetry. Form must give way to substance. The bones of an argument must be laid out in its naked glory.
My supervisor says I am cryptic. That I speak the way I write, hiding things. Keeping things. She said for me to keep a journal and practice writing to lay out my thoughts. Right.
1 comment:
I've read somewhere that a common mistake of many people is to turn their passion into a job. Not into something they look forward to doing, not into a reason they wake up in the morning, but a job.
Maybe you could somehow reclaim it?
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