A Writer's Sense of Angst

2002-07-10 - 5:23 a.m.

I was reading random d-land sites again, and you know what? I feel older than I used to be, years ago. Older, but not better. I don't feel worse, either, but I'm not sure if I'm even close to the person I wanted to one day be, once upon a time.

Some days I feel like I have years to figure it out, and other days I wonder why I haven't yet.

I want to write again...I want to write new ideas, instead of rehashing all the old ones, but the new ideas aren't really there, and the old ones end up making do.

There aren't any new characters in my head...any of the ideas I have seem flat, two-dimensional, and I can't write about cardboard people. The two (unpublished, likely to never be published) novels that I've actually finished were peopled by, well, people. They were real to me.

I don't feel like I have that right now.

Maybe it's because I'm not changing right now? Since I have nowhere to go with my character development, how can I expect to find someone inside myself who does?

This is a sign that I need to do things. I need to go out and learn things and be a part of some world, and go to school where I'll be challenged, and where ideas are thrown at me, instead of me having to find them.

I still have no idea where last entries butterflies came from, but they're gone for now.

Cheers,

The Magus

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