I feel that my writing has come to a plateau for a while. I thought more reading can lift it up from the unsatisfactory stagnation, but that has not happened yet. I always read books with a style that I want to emulate, but for some reason, my reading is not reflected in my writing. It’s still plain old me as I am telling my story, with no trace of anything I’ve read so far.
It Comes Out Differently
Actually in my mind the story is quite vivid, but when it is typed out, it loses its vividness. Not only that, it feels like somebody who wants it to be vivid but can’t pull it off. A nice helpful girl online advised me to flesh it out. It is true that it feels a little skeleton like, a little lack of flesh, dress, and allure. Nobody enjoys it, except those very rare people who love skeletons.
It Is Not Improving As Expected
I thought the improvement should be linear, unobstructed, and perpetual. That’s supposed to be one’s expectation of one’s writing. If one continues to write, one’s stories would advance progressively better in a fashion that satisfies our desire. But that hasn’t been the case. If anything, I’ve seen a perpetual expanding plateau rather than an upward growing line. Progress is only a dream and a speculation; standstill is the norm.
Try To Be Funny, But Can’t
I thought my stories are funny when they are in my mind, but when they come out, they are so … unfunny. I don’t know why it is the case. I mean during the process of coming out, the story loses its spunky-ness and verve. How can that happen? Or probably it is not funny to begin with and I mistake it to be funny.
Cliche Follows Me Like A Shadow
Among the list of frustrations, the platitude is the most annoying. It feels that everything I say is a cliche. I think this is partly the fault of the English language–it has this relentless appetite for something unsaid before. I mean in other languages, quoting an ancient book can be a virtue, but in English, it will only get you labeled as a relic, antique, passé, or worse– a plagiarist.