i'm sorry, i can't hear you
My voice? Where did it go? After a year of having my writing taken apart, I've started to whisper.
We've spent a year working on our writing, and I struggle to advance when I still don't know what I'm doing wrong and what I'm doing right. I should be screaming eloquently in my own voice at this point, but I seem to be choking on my own words.
While one person may love my metaphors and smile at my similes, another will pull out a red pen and tell me to revise my work.
There are also the conflicting rules of journalism. While broadcast journalism encourages a cheesy play on words, magazine writing shakes its big wordy head in dissaproval.
I want to advance in my writing, to dig deeper, to touch upon more of my thoughts and to burn up the page with my honesty.
But with two essays, two feature stories and my own writing under my belt, I'm starting to feel burried.
I've got to dig myself out and find my voice.
And by the way, everything in life is writable about if you have the outgoing guts to do it, and the imagination to improvise. The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt.