This was originally posted on my personal blog on February 11, 2014.
Going to the writers’ club is giving me more confidence in my writing. I keep getting praise for the little things I bring in.
Tonight I brought in my sci-fi romance, The Last Night, the 1992 revision. People were so concerned about my characters that they threw out ideas for rewrites and expansions, which would allow them to live instead of being executed. LOL
People were surprised that I wrote it around age 19, and at how much I had written in general by the time I wrote the first draft in 1990 at age 17. They called me precocious.
I thought this was normal for writers. In college, I was a writing major, so I knew a lot of people who were at least as good at writing as me, if not better, at my age. After all, we’d already been through a year’s worth of various writing courses.
Why do I keep writing? Because I have to.
Why have I written so much all my life, not just in adulthood but since before I could write? Because I have to.
It’s not so much a choice as a drive, an ever-pressing need.
It’s driving me to keep posting my College Memoirs day after day after day, whether they’re read or not, whether the frequency is too much for my subscribers to keep up with.
I MUST write these stories. I MUST post these stories.
Then when I’m done, I’ll be free to write the next story. But until then, my inspiration is dry for anything new, because it’s all caught up in what I’m working on now.
That’s just how my muse works. It won’t let me rest until the story is done. Unless it’s boring me; then I stop.