This isn't easy to admit, but I'm afraid

Yo. Totally failed that week long feature thing. I don't feel bad about it either. So sue me. (please don't I'z a poor fool) In anycase, HvZ wrapped up wendsday night. T'was fun. I got a tag, took me literally all game, but I did lol. Yay me. In any case, this post isn't really HvZ related. It's a bit of whatever I feel like posting, in other words, I'm back to the normal format. Enjoy.

So I've been thinking:

I've come to a realization. I'm massively terrified of the revision process. Like it's kind of ridiculous. And the thing is, I don't normally even realize how terrified I am, until after its all over. Last Wednesday I had a conference with my creative writing teacher. I honestly had no idea how terrified I was of that meeting until after it was over. I found myself short of breath. It's ridiculous really. That one little meeting, five, ten minutes tops, had my breathing more irregular than all the physical activity HvZ had made me do. And I can't really say I don't know why.
Maybe it's just me, but I think there's a few things I've come to understand about writers. Again, maybe it's not writers as a whole, maybe it's just me. But all the same, it's truth.
As a writer, you bare your heart and soul. That once blank sheet of paper is now full of your thoughts and feelings. Your dreams and aspirations. And just when you think you've perfected them all, just when you've gotten all those feelings out, you have to share it. Share it with other people, other writers, all of whom are just like you. For all writers are essentially the same. They all have the same societal issues, all have the same god complex. A god complex that rivals, if not surpasses, that of a scientist. For a scientist seeks to understand the world around them, all of its complexities and patterns, the way it moves, the way it works. But a writer, a writer forgoes all these facts, these observations, and creates a world of his own. A world that would not, cannot exist without them. For a writer, he is the god of his world. He creates, he destroys, all on a whim. Decides who lives and who dies. If that's not the worlds biggest god complex, I don't know what is. But unlike god, writers have egos. Precarious little things. A writer bears his soul, creates whole worlds, worlds where he reigns supreme, and then, subjects his world, his soul to the thoughts of others. Of others with god complexes, of other perfectionists, to the critique of other pretentious assholes just like himself, and this process, this is critique. You bear your heart and soul, and meticulously revise and edit, and then, then all your hard work is thrown to the dogs. They rip and tear up your little world, your soul, and spit it back at you. What's left is small hunks of sentences, flowing analogies torn up, your beautiful words beaten and left for dead, replaced with idea concepts, all of which have nothing to do with your original thoughts. Why would anyone submit their very soul, to this kind of suffering? We do it because it's the only way we improve, the only way our worlds grow, change, and become even more beautiful than the original thought.
Maybe all of this is why I'm so scared of even thinking of signing up for Eng407 next semester. I'm terrified of 307 as it is already. I don't know how well I'd do. My writing is one of the few things I end up self conscious about, and I've learned, I don't do so well in that regards. I hate being nervous and unsure. Doesn't help any that I'm in a class full of great writers who seem to poop excellence. Curse my fragile little human ego, and my slight god complex. Of course, 'slight' in this context means a horrible merger between the god complexes of both scientists and writers. I want to know how it works, why it works, and then say fuck you rules of nature, I do what I want!

Quote of the Day:

"The road to hell is paved with adverbs."
-Stephen King


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