At least for now. Or rather, after one project is complete and then I’ll give it up for a while. I don’t seem to have grown any recently in my writing, and it is no longer self satisfying to me to write mediocre short stories. The literary world is full of great stories, good stories, mediocre ones that have been published and millions more that never will be. And, I might add, many great stories that won’t see publication either. The world certainly won’t miss one more from me, nor will it be a better place for having read it. Until I feel I can truly produce a story that needs to be read by others, it seems a useless way to spend so much of my time.
Obviously I’ll write when the spirit moves me, but even if a story gets finished, it will likely just be added to a file on my hard drive under Creative Writing; subfolders Finished Stories, Started Stories, Poetry.
One thing on which Boethius’ Consolation of Philosophy has persuaded me is of the false happiness of pride and honor taken in what we deem as important in our lives.
So that’s the plan for now, as I return to the real world and its demands, and to seek happiness instead in the established good and perfection of those who’ve gone before me.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology
In the course of living I suspect the right story will come to you. It’s those times I’m not really focused on writing when I find a story nagging me to write it.
I’m not convinced the modern commercial way, of getting an author on a multi-book contract with deadlines is the best thing for fiction. For non-fiction perhaps, and it certainly worked for me as a technical writer. But good fiction has to steep for a while in the subconscious. It can’t be pressured into existence.
Barbara, I think you’re right that we can’t force a fictional story. While the muses just aren’t with me now, I’m rather disappointed in everything I’ve written once the high wears off. In the face of what I’ve been reading lately, I think it’s time to just study and learn.