I’m having a really hard time. and I’m constantly on the verge of tears. and everything EVERYTHING hurts. I hate being sick, I hate being broken, I hate being fragile useless meaningless burdensome shit. But that is what I am and IT IS KILLING ME!
My body is broken and it’s failing me and it HATES me and there’s not a god damn mother fucking thing I can do about it. My doctors don’t understand me, and there’s nothing they can do, and God knows they are trying. But, seriously, what the hell!?
Why me? Why is it ALWAYS me?!
Tuesday, 3 November 2009
More writing, which will possibly be more terrible than ever. I've lost all inspiration, and I'm fairly certain it all started with an insult.
ONE person disliked my writing, over a year ago, and now I feel crippled. It rests more on WHO it was rather than WHAT they said. The man I love disliked my writing to the point that I took it as an insult. I know he didn't mean it, but he immediately and harshly critiqued my craft.
All I wanted was to share with him something I was proud of...
Never doing that again, I assure you.
Posted by Harberette at 1:24 pm
Saturday, 2 May 2009
First and foremost: Sorry, Krumbine. I promised you I'd be posting a snippet of a potential novel, but that just isn't going to happen. I went back and read over what I had feverishly scribbled down and noticed something very distinct about it. It's a huge piece of crap.
Yes. My writing, for far too long now, has been just terrible. I can't write anything creatively as of late, and it's becoming a really painful struggle. I love writing. I love putting pen to paper and just seeing what happens. The problem lately is that when I write, while I'm writing, I think what I'm writing is genius, unheard of magnificence. A day later when I go back to re-read what I've written I come to the startling realization that what I wrote is horrible, terrible, should-never-see-the-light-of-day crap.
The weird thing about this is that other parts of my creativity are flourishing. I love my paintings and drawings lately, which never ever happens. I've been getting video ideas [though I tend to either be too lazy, or not have the resources to produce said videos]. I feel creatively charged, but my writing is suffering. It's not as organic as it used to be, but everything that wasn't is now.
Also, on a completely separate note entirely, I'm thinking of getting into freelance make-up artistry. I used to always want to be a makeup artist, but I never really pursued it. However, I am in desperate need of money and figured I might as well give it a try. The only problem is I need teh makeup products. Consequence of being poor is that I cannot afford them. Alas, thwarted again by the stupid economy.
Right. So. How are you?
Posted by Harberette at 1:05 pm
Tuesday, 21 April 2009
I am so fed up with not feeling inspired. I used to write like a madman. The words would just flow out of me, and it was so incredibly organic to just put pen to paper and see what happened. Now, though, it feels like such a struggle for me to create...anything. I always feel like something is blocking me. Like, the worst kind of writers block. I can't see my mind clearly, and I can't feel my feelings well enough to put them into words. I'm an inarticulate mess when I speak, but writing has always been natural. My fingers can type faster than I can speak and fast enough to just flow with my mind, and you can't edit the words you say. Once you say something, it's out there. It's in the mix. But when you write something down, you can cross out and go over and rewrite and reconfigure anything you want. Most creative processes work that way. I've been painting a lot lately, for some unknown reason. The great thing about painting is that you can always add more paint. If I mess up, or I don't like what I've done, I can just go over it. No harm, no foul.
The words are the building blocks, and the sentences are the structure. You can add words for more support and take away the ones that weaken the structure. And maybe novels are buildings. Certain sentences can weaken its integrity, and others make it stand taller. I want my words to build skyscrapers...
Posted by Harberette at 11:14 am
Thursday, 16 April 2009
I epic-ly failed at BEDA. But I don't really give a crap. I mean, I'm doing it for me and if I don't feel like writing anything then I shouldn't. Correct? Correct.
I've been off and on considering all day whether or not there is a Hell. Like, an actual place, I mean. Or is there just the Hell that we create for ourselves on Earth??
Posted by Harberette at 8:45 pm