Something Worth Reading

I feel like everything that I've been writing these past few months is just going to amount to a lot of crap. I used to get the feeling, after writing, that I'd just produced something that was intrinsically good. I felt it, even when I read it over to myself out loud, and I liked it. It wasn't like looking at photographs of myself (which I do not enjoy), it was like creating something that I could enjoy, even though I'd done it myself. And I loved it. And now, it's almost as if nothing is coming together anymore. Nothing looks or sounds good, and nothing makes sense. It's all just a mess. And for what? Nine pages? Oh, excellent. I'd do much better to concentrate on all the fluff that's out now. If only I didn't know exactly what I want written.

I have been taking a few breaks to read the book by Sarah Dessen that Lindsay loaned me. Just Listen, apparently new. Definitely intense. I want my writing to be intense, too, just not in the same way. You know how some people say that nothing ever really happens to the main character, but to the minor characters that surround him or her? It just seems kind of true based on what I've been reading lately, but I don't want it to be true of what I write. I want my main character to actually feel something, and not vicariously.

I want reality, and something worth reading.