Who /losingmotivation/ here?
I'm 24,598 words into the fifth installment of my six-part memoir, but recently the will to complete this work has completely abandoned me. I've tried drinking more coffee, energy drinks, taking more walks and eating more fruit and so on but nothing is working. Mommy confronted me today about my writing and asks if I would like her to book a meeting with a therapist so I can talk about my past with him / her. I said no and I can tell she is feeling very guilty at how her "angel" (her words) has turned out.
How do you keep motivated when writing /lit/?
It's all come crashing down.
If you're accusing me of lying then I can only tell you that I am not and hope that you believe me. After months spent in the Eden-like refuge of my imagination I have again been forced to confront a world in which I can only suffer and long to escape. Summer is approaching and as usual these months will inflict me with loneliness, regret and longing. I have progressed so much with my work and I am confident that any sensitive and intellectual individuals who read it will at least appreciate my dedication to a specific Form and my consistency in articulating aspects of my life in great detail and with great psychological insight and analysis. But now my humour is flagging. Maybe it's because I've reached the section of my work dedicated to my teenage years, in which a nascent self-awareness burdened me a great deal. But the value I've previously dedicated to this work, a value disputed but an agent whose opinion I had reason to respect, has diminished to the point where my life seems flat, empty and without a worthwhile purpose. I still refuse to distract myself by playing the part expected of an individual raised in my culture, or to dedicate myself to personal pleasure and the happiness it entails. I really feel as though the final sentence has been written.
Should I continue writing my memoirs beyond the current six-part series I will consider it, though at the moment the final book ends at a specific moment in my life to provide a sense of structure to the overall work. Life overwhelms me too much, and my weakness and inability (or lack of volition) in demanding that it yield to my paltry wants and desires means that my only recourse is to invest fully in memory, thought and imagination, or else be forced to perform an act which will distress my mommy that all of the virtue I have both defended and nurtured throughout of my life would be undermined by this one act.
Comrade, don't you see? The immense burden of putting to paper this moment of anxiety need not be undertaken. Instead of describing the event, simply explain to the reader why you can not (and in many ways need not) continue with the tale. Obviously this action is bold, as it will take your work and allow the reader to mentally craft its conclusion. Still, perhaps this giving up of your life story touches deeper than any description of it could plunge.
does /lit/ write from their memory of experiences or look for experiences to commit to paper?
I mena, if I wanted inspiration, I could look up at the fabric lining of my NEETbox, describe the inherent uniformity of the weave that I wish to escape. I want to be that ball of lint floating away into the aether. yet now that I have detached myself from society, I must i simply allow the currents to take me where they will, enjoying the journey, contemplating the beauty of this three dimensional existence. apart, separated, outside of the culturally demanded weft of human existence. I look back on the normies as trapped in their immanent existence. I float outside as an outlaw, experiencing the often terrifying gnostic awareness of the utterly bounded lives those other filaments exist within.
is the creative process fun and enjoyable for others?
I'm not willing to present any of my work in the public domain until it is published and protected by copyright. I've spent too much time and invested too much energy into this simply to post an excerpt and allow it to be analysed with disdain by those wishing to undermine me.