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Feb. 7th, 2005 02:33 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dragonlady7Something maturity and the Internet, not necessarily in that order, has helped me with is in realizing that I can relate to the world and am not unique. It has always been very difficult for me to understand my place in, well, reality. As a writer it was most marked, this inability: I wrote only for myself for years, for myself and one other who was in on the joke, and no other would have understood Now I know: we were a genre of two.
And I have learned, now, how to separate things into categories, into genres, into things that relate to other things in a fashion that can be easily understood by other people.
Just a thought. It was a really good and deep thought while I was thinking it, in the bathroom just now, washing my face and pretending like I'm grown-up and smart enough to have a beauty routine that I actually follow, now that I have not only zits but also wrinkles. Now that I write it down, it doesn't seem so deep.
But it has helped me, writing fanfiction has, to be able to separate my fiction writing into... into genres, into categories, into things other people can understand and can tell whether they want to read.
I just read a lovely fanfic piece that I knew was in a genre that didn't do it for me. And it was a lovely piece but I didn't like it. And it was no fault of the piece, except that it was a genre I simply do not enjoy. Any logic flaws or character-motivation problems loomed huge and insurmountable, while its considerable charms in style and writing skill were minimized. I could appreciate them, but not deeply. And that's a damn shame.
But it underlines that genre is important. I read the piece because 1) I like the author, and 2) once I start something I almost always finish it. (That applies, however, exclusively to reading. Sadly enough.) But I didn't leave a review. Because I had nothing useful that I could say. I could praise the piece's genuine qualities, which were numerous, but I would have to do so without passion. And for me to begin to address the piece's flaws... Well, they were flaws that might not matter to one for whom the subject matter resonated. And perhaps the characters' motivations would make sense to one who, well, liked them.
Perhaps part of that is just me. I seem to slip out of categories and find I can no longer resonate within them the way I did. Keeping a journal has helped me chronicle these phases in myself. And it's helped me see what remains constant. But I do not yet know myself in enough depth to be able to predict when something is going to slide out of the span of my attentions.
And tomorrow morning I will have to judge whether this post makes as much sense as I think it does, three hours past my bedtime.
And at times like this I think I'm really cool. Should I make it an all-nighter and start writing now while I feel invincible? Or should I go to bed?
*ponders*
And I have learned, now, how to separate things into categories, into genres, into things that relate to other things in a fashion that can be easily understood by other people.
Just a thought. It was a really good and deep thought while I was thinking it, in the bathroom just now, washing my face and pretending like I'm grown-up and smart enough to have a beauty routine that I actually follow, now that I have not only zits but also wrinkles. Now that I write it down, it doesn't seem so deep.
But it has helped me, writing fanfiction has, to be able to separate my fiction writing into... into genres, into categories, into things other people can understand and can tell whether they want to read.
I just read a lovely fanfic piece that I knew was in a genre that didn't do it for me. And it was a lovely piece but I didn't like it. And it was no fault of the piece, except that it was a genre I simply do not enjoy. Any logic flaws or character-motivation problems loomed huge and insurmountable, while its considerable charms in style and writing skill were minimized. I could appreciate them, but not deeply. And that's a damn shame.
But it underlines that genre is important. I read the piece because 1) I like the author, and 2) once I start something I almost always finish it. (That applies, however, exclusively to reading. Sadly enough.) But I didn't leave a review. Because I had nothing useful that I could say. I could praise the piece's genuine qualities, which were numerous, but I would have to do so without passion. And for me to begin to address the piece's flaws... Well, they were flaws that might not matter to one for whom the subject matter resonated. And perhaps the characters' motivations would make sense to one who, well, liked them.
Perhaps part of that is just me. I seem to slip out of categories and find I can no longer resonate within them the way I did. Keeping a journal has helped me chronicle these phases in myself. And it's helped me see what remains constant. But I do not yet know myself in enough depth to be able to predict when something is going to slide out of the span of my attentions.
And tomorrow morning I will have to judge whether this post makes as much sense as I think it does, three hours past my bedtime.
And at times like this I think I'm really cool. Should I make it an all-nighter and start writing now while I feel invincible? Or should I go to bed?
*ponders*
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2005-02-07 07:36 am (UTC)and if it's crap tomorrow, you can always delete it. but you will still have been able to enjoy the feeling tonight.
no subject
Date: 2005-02-07 11:00 pm (UTC)