writing
I haven’t been writing much for the last two weeks. It is probably excusable because I can think up a whole list of excuses. But the bottom line is that I haven’t been writing. If only writing weren’t hard work.
I read Eragon by Christopher Paolini the last few days. I was frustrated by the book. It isn’t very often that I read a book and find myself mentally re-writing sections of it. When I finished the book, the blurb on the flap informed me that the author was 15 years old when he completed the book. That knowledge shifted my view of the book dramatically. That a 15 year old could finish a novel at all is impressive. That he got it published and widely distributed is even more impressive. As the depth of his experience increases, the depths of his characterizations will as well. Everything that frustrated me about the book was because the work was immature not because the premise or story were flawed.
When I was 15 I was also writing a novel. I still have it unfinished and it will remain unfinished because I can now see clearly the flaws in the concepts and characterizations. It was a deriviative work rather than original. Some of the concepts from it may make their way into other works, but that particular novel served it’s purpose. I don’t have space in my life for a novel right now. I do have space for short stories and vignettes, so that is what I’m writing. When I actually get any writing done at all.