There are many frustrations for writers, or anyone else in the creative world. We see the world differently, often finding beauty and richness in the strangest places. There’s also an odd ability to partner happiness and contentment with a sense of melancholy. I, for one, love old things; buildings, forests, books, they make me happy, but I also feel sadness because nothing lasts forever and I hate to think of something so beautiful passing away. These mix of emotions seem common for creatively minded people. It is our gift and our burden to see the world from a unique prospective and try to share it.
Another part of the burden is that nothing is ever as pure and perfect as it is in our mind. While it’s only a thought and an idea it’s perfect and world changing, but much is lost in translation. More than the audience will ever know, but the creator of the work knows and must learn to be content with the dim reflection of their initial idea that comes from their mind into the real world. Writing can be maddening and frustrating, but it’s so rewarding. After all I get to spend my life questing for stories. Finding fragments of plot and setting here and pieces of inspiration there. It fills the world with endless possibilities and makes me thinking of ever experience both good and bad, both beautiful and ugly, and even the mundane as possible materiel. Nothing is wasted. Everything is just another ingredient that goes into the creation of something new. Despite the difficulties, the feelings of self doubt, the fear of wasting time and that what you write doesn’t matter, I wouldn’t trade it for anything. I love stories. I love creating them. And I love the idea that someday my writing might inspire someone and ignite a love of writing in them. I’m not sure who I’d be without writing and I don’t intend to find out.
~~Lady of the Pen~~