The Writing Bug
Sometimes I feel this incredible urge to write. I may have written about this before. But it's back. I feel like I have all these ideas for amazing stories floating around in my head, but I can't seem to get them out.
I've never been much of a prose writer. I could BS an essay like nothing in college, but a short story? That was hell.
I used to write poetry. In high school it probably averaged around a poem every other day. Or more. But it was childish poetry. It was about the emotions a high schooler feels. My poetry started to mature in college. I could pump out a sonnet at breakfast for a friend's assignment that morning. But my poetry was still based on emotion. Usually darker emotions. Pain, sadness, loneliness. Those were my main inspirations.
Then I met someone. I fell in love with him. I was happy with him. I still am happy with him. The pain and loneliness went away. No more inspiration. I have tried to write happy poems, but they seem to fail me. I'm not very good at happy. I'm too dark and cynical to do happy.
But dark and cynical aren't as easy as they used to be, either. I haven't even ranted about stupidity over at Tough Crackers is quite a while.
So how do I get rid of this writing bug? Blogging doesn't really cut it. How do I use my dark humor and cynicism to vent my creative needs? Dark cynical poetry? seems like a bit of an oxymoron, but I suppose I can try. Again.
I've never been much of a prose writer. I could BS an essay like nothing in college, but a short story? That was hell.
I used to write poetry. In high school it probably averaged around a poem every other day. Or more. But it was childish poetry. It was about the emotions a high schooler feels. My poetry started to mature in college. I could pump out a sonnet at breakfast for a friend's assignment that morning. But my poetry was still based on emotion. Usually darker emotions. Pain, sadness, loneliness. Those were my main inspirations.
Then I met someone. I fell in love with him. I was happy with him. I still am happy with him. The pain and loneliness went away. No more inspiration. I have tried to write happy poems, but they seem to fail me. I'm not very good at happy. I'm too dark and cynical to do happy.
But dark and cynical aren't as easy as they used to be, either. I haven't even ranted about stupidity over at Tough Crackers is quite a while.
So how do I get rid of this writing bug? Blogging doesn't really cut it. How do I use my dark humor and cynicism to vent my creative needs? Dark cynical poetry? seems like a bit of an oxymoron, but I suppose I can try. Again.
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