More on creative stuff (see May 26th). It’s hard to express my feelings on it, since they’re so changeable. But I think the basic thrust is that when I try to pressure myself into writing with the purpose of making money in mind, the enjoyment factor does drain away, completely… so that it’s no longer so easy for me to see how I feel about it at all… the money thing confuses the issue, confuses my feelings, and compounds my cynicism about the whole thing, not to mention my sense of being a failure.
*sigh* I think it’s far too complicated to unravel properly, to be honest.
Whatever the case, I seem to be not even trying at the moment. Maybe something will come to me, maybe it won’t. But I reckon I should let it come naturally.
I’d like to think that reading more actual literature is at least inspiring. I’m enjoying reading more than ever. I spent a lot of years not reading much apart from comics, really. The occasional Stephen King book, the odd stab at Shakespeare or dip into Lovecraft, but otherwise just comics. I remember I managed to read Lord of the Rings and Frankenstein shortly after leaving school, but thereafter my book-reading became very irregular.
Mentioning Lovecraft, to digress a bit, I realise he’s a controversial writer you either love or hate. I have a funny attitude to his prose. A certain amount of the time, it very nearly stinks, but not quite. He has a lot of favourite buzz-words, and I get a sort of perverse kick out of that. Every time the word ‘fetid’ crops up (almost every page, it seems, at times), I have to stifle a giggle. I guess if you can find such mannerisms amusing, it goes some way to not being bothered by ’em. Anyway, aside from those rather dreary Dunsany-inspired other-wordly things, I like his stories and concepts a good deal, and I think he pulls off the atmosphere wonderfully at his best. (When he isn’t blowing it to hell describing every minute cranny of a dusty old room, anyway.)
Digression over. Later.