I Need Help

It's been a long time, probably about two or three years, since I've actually wrote something that I was proud of... or was at least "cool" with. I remember when writing memoirs in eighth-grade English, I used to be the one to impress the teacher out of all the students in the four classes, because my style of writing. However, everything seemed to change when I got into high school, either the improvement came to a halt or I just got too stressed those first two years.

Yet, I still have to tell you what my problem is, don't I?

Well, the problem is that creative images come to my head, and as a visual artist I can put them on paper so easily, but no longer can I put them into words. I want to be able to put the images in my head into deep and meaningful words that flow well, in an almost spine-tingling language. They just seem to come out so bland and tasteless, like I've overused the language. I'm also having difficulty linking scenes without putting in too much or too little useless detail. Sometimes feel that I too am forgetting the basic English I was taught in elementary school that they don't talk about in high school because they expect you to know it.

A couple of years ago, I thought up an idea for a novel, and onto a series. I think I was probably about eleven or twelve years old, and at that age I wrote a couple of chapters and scribbled down a few notes. The very few trusted people I allowed to read them thought that the idea was absolutely genius, especially for the age I was to think up this plot. Perhaps they were just being kind because they were close... However, I still want to continue with this story from my childhood, but somehow I feel that I can't because I've declined so much and I've forgotten most of the smaller details.

I also used to make my mother very proud when she read my stories, she decided to pick up writing herself... she even went back to college for it. She has written two over-sized novels now, but neither have been published because she currently doesn't want them published.

These examples are not from the story mentioned above, instead they are from my character on a fantasy wolf play-by-post RPG, entitled The Shadow of Let.

Here's a recent example of my writing from July 2010...

She gazed at him with her blank eyes becoming relentlessly wet until they flowed out of her tear ducts. Even though, it was only a blurred image in the shape of him, she knew the baby blue and those grays of his coat. Here he was, standing right before her, her own flesh and blood... Again, finally. Just one year ago felt like a thousand, because that was how much Aubri had missed him, and how lonely she had been those months.

She could never be angry. Instead, she was now hopeful. If her son was out there, and he came back, then maybe one day her daughter would return too. Perhaps the future would be like those old days and the happier times she had spent alive.

Why did she have to think so foolishly last autumn?.. No, it was not a risk worth thinking right now...

'Mama.'

Even as large he had gotten, Aubri still envisioned him as nothing different from the small pup she had raised. However, she did know that he had grown into something beautiful, and she was proud. After reassuring her of his presence, the she-wolf tried to hold back a sob of happiness as he neared, stumbling in his own emotions.

It seemed too surreal to her. She had imagined that this would be the moment where she would wake up, and find that she had another nightmare. This was worth a nightmare because it would disappoint here when she were to open her eyes inside her den and find no one there.

She remained rigid, tears running unrealistically from her eyes and her mind awaiting an awakening. Finally, his body made contact for the first time in what felt like forever. Aubri realized that she was not dreaming. She realized that he was there, he was alive, and he was breathing. His face in the fur around her neck, it felt worth trusting that this was, in fact, reality. At his touch, Aubri cracked a broken smile, and wrapped her neck so she could be close.

She could tell that it took a lot of effort for him to speak as he pushed himself to his trembling mother. He was definitely not like his father, for he was in an absolute emotional wreck when he made contact. "It's okay. Everything is alright." Aubri said. While making an effort to suppress the hoarseness in her voice, she force a pacifying tone, "I'm here," Closing her eyes, she opened one black wing and spread it around his side, pressing him lightly in an embrace. "and I'm not going anywhere."

Now, here is a piece from May 2008...

Her quick-paced and excited heartbeat finally slowed, and for a moment she even wished that it would come to a stopping point. Aubri knelt down even more, not daring herself to look up. Then she began to focus on a wild berry below her, connected to a few stray roots in the ground. I was one of those non-edible berries that just sit there and do nothing. It was as deep and red as Burgundy wine, causing Aubri's emotions to twist and flicker while she thought of herself. She took a deep breath to relax, but instead of exhaling, she held it in. The air was imprisoned in her, but not trying to escape. There was no thrashing, no force, Aubri open her passageways to let it go, and it reluctantly left.

Her throat began to scorched and tight, it was the same type of burn one gets when they are upset. Aubri got to her feet, standing up straight. However, it did not make her feeling any stronger. Alerting her ears and her tail, erecting her hackles, and spreading her wings; tilting them upward in a threatening fashion, helped her. She was ignoring anyone around, and even alone, she felt powerful to all beings who were to stand in her way. This was unusual from her, but she was hopelessly tired and strained. She did not know nearly anyone who walked this so called Shadow of Let, and she was free here, many miles away from the pack lands.

This nature, though, was not who she was. The feeling of authority over no one had left; her fragile, and tattered wings started to quake and close. Her knees and elbows bent back into their designated position, followed by the rest of her body loosening. Slowly, she blinked and reopening her eyes to the view of the colorful, undisturbed forest. A scent made her skin crawl with disbelief...it was his scent... Aubri shook her head in reaction, and faithed she was hallucinating...

A feeling of awkwardness came over her and stung her in the chest. She no longer wanted to be in the open, exposed to the sun, sky, and wind. Quickly and noisily, Aubri leaped from the open into the thick, colorful orchard; her shape fading within the depths.

So, do you have any ideas to fix the internal struggle I'm having? Do you even know what I'm talking about? If not, I think I can elaborate more -_-'

I think you really have to ask yourself the question "Why do I write?" and answer it honestly. Right now, just from reading the above post, I get the feeling that you write more for the recognition that it brings you than anything else, and this reason for writing may be the root of your problem.

Another possible root could be that you're out of practice, and/or that you've limited your horizons a bit too much.

In both cases, I suggest maybe writing a short story (or several) on a subject you've never written about before. The catch is that you write it without the intention of showing anyone. At the least, it will be good practice and will get you thinking a bit more on how to write things; at best, it may bring an end to your block.

Another thing you can try to get back into shape with writing is review. Really. When you review, you read critically, and so you notice all the little techniques and reasons behind word choice and paragraphing and so on. You become more aware of what works and what doesn't, and also why. And with this awareness, you've gained a greater knowledge of what goes into your own writing which you can apply to make it better.

You could also post up some of your work for review and even request some excellent critiquers to look it over and point out particular issues. Those members with Reviewer 1 and/or 2 badges generally give the most helpful and thorough reviews.

And if none of these things work, it might just be that you need to take a break from writing. I know that I sometimes do, and I once took a five year break. In those five years, I focused on other things that I enjoyed doing, and eventually that sphere of enjoyment came to encompass writing again. And in those five years, I learned about more things I could write about or apply to my writing, so it wasn't as if the break had been entirely unproductive on the writing front; I think it actually helped.

I've told this to myself, and a few people when they find their writing's gone downhill after a break:

Forget you used to be good.

Yes, I said that. Forget your old reputation as being a brilliant writer, one who could weave sentences together. That two year break has put you just a little above the "novice" category in the mechanics of writing. Treat it like you're learning again, because you are. Every skill rusts with practice and writing is no different.

I'd also follow Kyllorac's suggestions, about writing to not show anybody/just for yourself and going out of your comfort zone. It feels really weird, but the amount you grow from even writing just a short story in the genre is visible. If you actually polish those stories to make them better, then the growth increases.

What Kyllorac and Rosey said.

Practice
All of us want to write achingly beautiful things, but you have to start with the basics. Short stories are fabulous for practice because they force you to condense and concentrate on certain aspects of writing. They don't have to take long and yet they can be immensely satisfying. You can experiment and hone your craft. A novel isn't always the best learning tool, seeing as how you are stuck in the same writing style, with the same characters, the whole time. A few short stories here and there give you a chance to stretch your legs in other directions and that in turn can help with the noveling.

Review
I noticed a huge change in the way I wrote after I discovered YWS. There's something about reviewing other people's work in depth and reading other people's reviews of the same work that really make you examine your own writing. Noticing something in someone's writing and seeing what other people have to say about it is amazingly beneficial, whether showing you what not to do or showing you how to do something.

Editing
Just keep in mind through everything that it doesn't have to be perfect the first time you write it. Again, we all want to write beautifully, but there is a very true saying that the first draft is always terrible. But it can be brilliantly terrible. I have a draft of a novel sitting on my shelf. I cringe at it every time I read it, but I still love it to death. The plot is full of holes, the description is terrible, and my characters' development goes out the window in some places, but I still get excited every time I think about it. It's one of my most favorite pieces of writing ever, because I had so much fun writing it. I need to write another draft of it, though. There may be another draft after that. It probably won't look anything like pretty until a few drafts down the road, but that's okay. The point is to get something on paper that you can work with, not to instantly transcribe perfection.

Good luck! I'd suggest testing out your reviewing legs and maybe post something to see what people have to say about your work. Constructive criticism can go a long way to making you a better writer.

Aha! You had it happen to you too!

When I was fourteen, I used to craft the most amazing stories ever... stories that I loved and really thought were good and all that jazz. I was a writer and everyone knew it.

And then... I got older. When I was sixteen, I thought I had completely regressed. In fact, my writing was much weaker than when I was fourteen. Everybody who saw my writing noticed it -- and wondered why it had changed so dramatically. The truth is, the reason why it changed so much was because I changed so much. Things became much more complicated and I struggled with putting my thoughts on paper. It wasn't easy -- it still is a bit hard, much harder than when I was younger.

Still, it's just a phase. What helps to get better? Well, what helped for me was only writing what I loved. Anything that I hated myself for writing because it seemed too hopeless? I gave it up. I did little projects, one which grew into a completed novel. And slowly, by writing things that I wanted to write, I practiced enough to get better again.

Don't worry about it. Just do what you love. It'll all come back.