Writing Meme Reflections

 

Sometimes, while writing, I stick to the rules too much and worry about whether I am writing in the correct fashion; this would not be an issue because some poetry requires you to follow a set of rules for it to count as a specific type of poem, but it becomes an issue when I try to apply that "stick to the rules" mindset to my freewriting and personal projects. I think too hard about the project as a whole and what I need to do rather than produce more ideas on what I can write about. 

I feel anxious when writing in the eyes of someone else, especially when I know someone else is reading what I am writing; this is something I need to work on and loosen up. When other people want to read my writings, I usually leave the room while they do so or fiddle around until they finish reading. It is easier for me to loosen up and just write when I am by myself. It is easier to loosen up around those close to me; I just need to remind myself to go with the flow more in my writing.

This meme is an excellent example of how I work with a groove and need to maintain that groove to produce the results I want. When someone throws off my groove from where I would like it, I crash into a wall and need to reset to find it again. This groove I am referring to is something that everyone has, and it is always different depending on the person; mine consists of quiet focus and flow writing, where I need quiet (but not complete silence) to enter my mode. A way for me to enter my writing groove is through relaxing by myself, and once I am in my groove, I can listen to music and write as much as I possibly can before it gets thrown off by an outside source of any sort.

The Room

I was alone in my library, surrounded by a dark ambiance with light only entering from a small window and, on occasion, a fire in the fireplace. Shelves lined the walls, and the candlelight glow echoed through the room, bringing a sense of warmth to the chill. A sizable, comfortable chair sits in one of the corners, without a bookshelf, next to the fireplace, and another sits across the room, facing the entire space. In the middle of the room, in front of one of the bookshelves, is a small table with a tall leather bistro chair under it. Finally, there I am, asleep on the floor by the now-cold fireplace. It was a late night for me, spent writing in the early evening, which led to reading a book on the floor near the then-warm fireplace.

Without waking me, my lovely wife walks into the room with a glass of water. She sits in a chair near where I am sleeping, placing her water on the floor. She sinks into the chair and slowly drifts off to sleep.

A few hours later, I woke up to the midday glow shining through that westward window. Sitting up on the floor, I see my wife cuddled up on the chair, sound asleep. She was still wearing her scrubs and a white overcoat over the top; she's a surgical dentist, which is why we could afford such a room. Straight after work, she must have come home and fallen asleep on that chair. I grab the water she left on the floor and take a sip, leaving the rest for her to enjoy. Giving her a light kiss on the cheek, she awakens and rubs her eyes.

I grabbed the book I was reading and helped her to her feet. We then walked out of the room and enjoyed a relaxing day off.

Nonsense

The sun rose on the midday gleam and set that morning. Little did trees know to talk; they only know to walk. Strangely, Tuesdays are wooden with charm and ginger. Oddly, the old sunset didn't rise today, which was odd, and no one noticed. Keys are jello with metal, and the lock is pudding with secrets, as are cards with iron and cloud-ridden notes engraved into their sides. Who knew the words weren't written there on the floor? Who cared that the couch was a rock and the floor was the sea? Why does it matter when the sky starts singing with houses and soil; it does not, does it? The screen moves passively and actively; whoever knows where the atmosphere went. I live in a box made of land and air. Find who you are by learning it is light and not colorblindness. You cannot see through glass doors if you can't see at all.

Nonsense. Utter Nonsense is what I have written unless, of course, it isn't. There is no message, purpose, or reason behind it, like trying to live without God. 

Throughout my life, I always try to live independently from God and make my life how I want it to be, not considering what God might have called me to do or be. Who am I, and why am I here on this earth? Without God, I will and would never know.

"The sun rose on the midday gleam and set that morning." no, it didn't. That wouldn't make any sense, would it?

How do you define success in terms of writing?

On the topic of successful writing or success in writing, many people judge their writings based on reviews and positive or negative feedback. I define my success in my writing based on whether I like it and whether my family likes it or not. I often don’t feel confident sharing my writing with others because I know I can improve it; once I am satisfied with the paper or report I completed, I share it with the general audience. If I write what I intend to write and share what I want to share, then it will at least succeed in that manner, but if I know I can fix it but I run out of time to make it better, then it will continue to bother me until I redo it. 

Success comes when the author likes what they have written; that’s how it is for me. I write a lot, but I feel anxious when anyone reads my writing out loud, a sense of fear that goes away when I’m confident in my work. The person I am most open to letting read my work at all or out loud would be my grandma. My writing is valuable to me; my thoughts on my writing are a significant factor in my confidence as a writer and whether I find it successful or worth posting. 

I have been working on letting more people read and critique my writing to defeat my fear of publishing. This post exemplifies my worries, as I delayed finishing it until a week after I started it. I find success in loving my work and getting positive feedback on it.