Regarding obsessing over writing . . . I don't think someone can be a good writer (meaning, not just having a good prose style and knowing how to string words together to achieve a certain effect on the reader, but also being able to do it consistently and at times even when the muse doesn't strike and there's no lightning left in the bottle and writer's block, such as it is, has bashed you in the head and left your writing arm too pained and fearful even to put words down on paper -- because even at those times, you've gotta be able to just do it almost unconsciously and without being aware of your thought processes chugging along) *without* obsessing. Which is not the same thing as worrying about it and being too overly concerned and self critical, although a certain amount of that is healthy and necessary. But you've got to be constantly on the go with ideas, and when one comes to you, even if you think it's stupid and will never lead to anything that's worth reading -- well, sometimes it won't, but other times, it might lead to something a few days down the road that's worthwhile. And even if it isn't, so what? That's what a commonplace book is for: even the most inane ideas get their day in the sun. But that doesn't seem to be a problem with you; most of your ideas that I've seen *are* exceedingly good, and worth reading (would that my own output when I was nineteen was as substantial as yours! trust me on this). And the best way to keep a hold of them is to get 'em organized and out of your head on paper or a Post-it, or at least filed away in your mental archives for future use and add-on supportive ideas.
Well . .. that's enough out of me now. I slept on the hallway floor of a house in Birmingham last night that I don't even know the owners of (long story as to why I didn't get back to my base of operations housesitting for my dad), and I have a slight hangover from the wedding I attended preceding said floor snooze, so I need to go put some food in my stomach and get a real nap. Auf wedersehen.
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Regarding obsessing over writing . . . I don't think someone can be a good writer (meaning, not just having a good prose style and knowing how to string words together to achieve a certain effect on the reader, but also being able to do it consistently and at times even when the muse doesn't strike and there's no lightning left in the bottle and writer's block, such as it is, has bashed you in the head and left your writing arm too pained and fearful even to put words down on paper -- because even at those times, you've gotta be able to just do it almost unconsciously and without being aware of your thought processes chugging along) *without* obsessing. Which is not the same thing as worrying about it and being too overly concerned and self critical, although a certain amount of that is healthy and necessary. But you've got to be constantly on the go with ideas, and when one comes to you, even if you think it's stupid and will never lead to anything that's worth reading -- well, sometimes it won't, but other times, it might lead to something a few days down the road that's worthwhile. And even if it isn't, so what? That's what a commonplace book is for: even the most inane ideas get their day in the sun. But that doesn't seem to be a problem with you; most of your ideas that I've seen *are* exceedingly good, and worth reading (would that my own output when I was nineteen was as substantial as yours! trust me on this). And the best way to keep a hold of them is to get 'em organized and out of your head on paper or a Post-it, or at least filed away in your mental archives for future use and add-on supportive ideas.
Well . .. that's enough out of me now. I slept on the hallway floor of a house in Birmingham last night that I don't even know the owners of (long story as to why I didn't get back to my base of operations housesitting for my dad), and I have a slight hangover from the wedding I attended preceding said floor snooze, so I need to go put some food in my stomach and get a real nap. Auf wedersehen.