For the longest time, I've been getting on the computer each night and trying to write. Nothing comes anymore.
I won't force myself to do something I can't do anymore. So I'll sit there and stare blankly until I close out the document. Then the insults come. "You're just another washed up wannabe. What made you think you were good at anything?"
Conscience, I don't know what made me think I was good at anything. The random bursts of creativity just aren't good enough anymore. I don't care who knows or not because I know.
I'm sorry that I know. I wish I was one of those people who will fight to not believe something negative, but I'm not. If the negativity is the truth, I'm going to believe in it 100%. They say the truth hurts, and oh, believe me, I know this now.
I'd like to say that I'm not sitting here feeling sorry for myself, but I am. Completely. Totally. I've become a shadow of the person I was. My talents have faded down to hollow shells of the things they once were.
Like many before me, I'm just a washed up Times Writer. I've fought this truth for a while now, but it's winning. I can beat it back with the rare story in the Creative Writing section, but that's all I can do. I've peaked.
I remember the "Running" series. Best thing I've ever done on Whyville, in my opinion. I worked hard on that. And since then, I was in the Times nearly every week for about a year. Then the Times Awards came around, and I remember being taken down in every category I was nominated for. Ouch. "Next year. Redemption."
Yeah well the year after I did win. Article of the Year. I was proud. Very proud.
However, I was nominated in multiple categories and the same person took me down in every single one except for Article of the Year. How did that happen? But, whatever. I lost, so I took my loss in stride. I was nominated in so many categories, honor enough. The one thing I didn't do was go down without a fight. Nomination in itself was darn good for me, was it not? That's the fight I put up.
This year, I'm willing to wager that I'm not going to be nominated in any category. But, I had a good run, I suppose.
Stage one was sitting at the keyboard and not being accepted week after week. My efforts paid off in due time, and I finally got accepted. That's stage two.
I guess you could say I'm not back at stage one, as the title suggests; I'm at stage two with many unfinished ideas. I was hoping to kick myself in the butt and get started again with "Burn Survivors", but we can all see that was a failed attempt.
I have so many ideas in a tattered notebook. You'd never believe the stories I've started and just couldn't finish. Only half of the race, Monet'. Only half of the race.
The lack of creativity I've displayed is displeasing to me.
Yet, here I sit, discontentedly at stage two. If only I could fix that. Hmm.
Here's to a good run,