I finally got some time to spend writing yesterday. It was mostly a vignette, and exercise just to get back into the swing of things. It wasn’t the greatest thing I’ve ever written, not by a long shot, but it was a start. I have to keep reminding myself constantly that nothing needs to be perfect in the first shot, there’s always the ability to edit.
So of course, this is a practice bigger than just writing; it’s more existential than that.
I did go back and read some of the vignettes I wrote two years ago, when I was in a writing clip, and not to break my arm patting myself on the back or anything, but they’re a pretty solid kernel. If someone else had written them, I would have enjoyed reading them.
My writing style – the main type of writing I ended up focusing on in my brief, brief tenure as a Creative Writing minor in college – is the personal essay type. How I relate to the world, my impressions and projections of the world around me.
And it’s not because I have this hubris about people wanting to read what I think. (Of course, the irony of blogging aside….) I don’t think I have a corner on the market of original thought. No, I’m afraid my affinity for non-fiction is more practical than that.
I have never been terrifically good at plot. I tend to get way more wrapped up in the words than I do the story, which I realize is not a totally uncommon problem in writing. I just choose not to inflict my deficiency on the literary world. Maybe someday, I’ll try my hand at fiction writing: I’ll only get better with practice.
Until then, it just feels good to be able to pull myself up and walk again, I guess.