atolnon: (Default)
( Aug. 7th, 2010 12:45 pm)
I had been terribly unhappy with my writing, recently, in that not much of what I perceived to be important was getting done and there was a lot of dross mixed in with what I did actually produce. I looked over my body of fiction work and poetry, which is rather sparse at the moment because a lot of it's been lost either intentionally or by chance and thought pretty poorly of the whole scenario.

Someone asked me at a party what I like to do, and I said, "I'm one of those guys that says he's a writer, but produces nothing, really." which got kind of a chuckle, but it's not a remark that's well received by some people when one's attempting to be honest. In that particular crowd, it may have hit far too close to home, but I swear that I do know people who write - occasionally somewhat prolifically, even.

Yesterday, I was saving old journal entries in case servers went down or they're taken down, because I'm a bit of a stickler for saving my work. In the course of those events, I had an opportunity to read what I had written, and actually was a bit pleased with myself. Some of the entries were really very good, and fairly engaging. Suddenly, I realized that my writing had become more precise, more evocative, and more enjoyable as time went on. "Does journalling count as writing?" I asked myself. " I am, after all, writing for an audience, even if it's a small one."

I do produce entries and essays, I suppose. I write games and run them. These are not forms of expression traditionally recognized as a writers trade until, I would expect, one is published. When the writing is between covers, one becomes an author and a journal becomes a memoir. If nothing else, it heartens me as I turn back towards writing fiction. 
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