As I was organizing my bookshelves
recently and came across a bounty of my writings from many many years
ago. I curiously sifted through them remembering the times I had
written the essays, articles, and short stories. Some were for class
assignments and others for pleasure.
It was a sad sense of nostalgia. Back
then I had talent. My language a literary style was beautiful almost
poetic in structure. So vastly different than the word vomit I force
out these days. I can't quite figure out what happened. What shifted
so much that every time I sit to create It comes out a stream of
poorly thought out garbage. I write my blogs and a place to squeeze
out my rantings.
So what am I to do to correct this most
heinous crime I have committed to myself? Search the web for free
online courses and search for a group, once again, to help in
building a creative friendship. I find having people creating works
of writing to discuss and bounce ideas off of is very useful.
Wish me luck as I dive into self
teaching and working hard. I need to do more of that hard work thing
anyway.
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