New Address

Moving to WordPress to see if I like that better.

http://estelwennarn.wordpress.com

don't forget the climax

My love for story seemingly vanished. And it made me sad. I had spent so many months dissecting book after book, story after story, plot after plot, character after character, that I grew tired of it: trying to figure out all the problems, trying to understand all the supposed hidden meanings, and trying to remember every detail of every gruesome and depressing story ever written (at least over the past couple hundred years). I spent my last year of college reading on average a book (or story or two) a week. Not only am I tired of writing, but I'm tired of reading. I haven't read an entire book for pleasure in almost three years. That, for me, is a shocker. I use to spend my summers reading about 5 or more books a week. I soaked them up like a sponge. Now I push them away for fear of being over analytical.

And yet...it has happened. I've been inspired. Nothing grand. It was more of an inclination. Should I try and act on it? What's the point? Will anything I say make sense? Will it touch anyone? Will it mean anything? Or will it just end up in the 10 cent box in the library, or on the student's list of books to be over analyzed? Will I have anything worth while and original, or will audiences see in my work the mimicking of another writer's creations?

I want to write again. But I'm going to have to practice.