Meh. I’m feeling self conscious about my writing. I haven’t felt self conscious about my writing in… a few years, actually. I like my writing, love it actually. I’m happy with it. So why am I feeling self conscious about it then?
Well, my writers group decided to do this thing called a “writers salon”, their words, where we met up at a pub, had some drinks, and got away from writing. And of course, they all have heard my stories so they know what I write. I brought my best friend along with my and my roommate and she was talking about how she’s a screenwriter and how she has a class this semester called Adaptation where she has to take a previously published work of art that has not been made into a movie already and write a script for it. I commented that I knew of a book she could use called Thirteen Reasons Why (awesome book, it’s by Jay Asher. I found out about it through Qzie’s blog :) ). She asked what it was about, and then someone else in the group wanted to know, so I explained that it was about a girl who had committed suicide and before she killed herself, created these tapes and sent them to people who basically brought her to the point of suicide.
A little back story, a week or so before I had brought in a story that was about my Angel of Hell and Angel of Heaven characters and how the Angel of Hell was killing his best friend and the Angel of Heaven because they were sleeping together (it was all a dream set up by Lucifer in the beginning of the story). A morbid piece, but I like it a lot. Granted, I can have a dark humor, but I’m mainly a romance writer. So they, I guess, decided to base all of what I write and enjoy based on this one piece.
So when I mentioned this book, they were like “oh that’s something you would like!” without even letting me explain that it was a well written book and very touching or that I read it based on a post on a blog I enjoy reading. No, just that it was obviously something I would like. I was like “wtf?” but whatever.
Later on in the get together, one of the guys in the group said that he had written a story about these two guys who were getting drunk and one ended up ripping the other one limb from limb, then looked at me and was like “it would be something you’d read!”
Again, I’m thinking “wtf? do you not pay attention to the fact that every time we have a new person in the group I explain that I’m mainly a romance writer?” I dismissed it. But now it’s getting to me. I’ve picked out a few of my romance stories and stories that have no real dark humor in them at all to bring in and share in the writers group on Tuesday. I want to show them that I’m not some morbid writer/reader. Hell, I read a lot of YA and like happy go lucky stories. Yes, things that are dark are fun, but I don’t go searching for it.
All in all, it’s made me feel rather self conscious, that the only thing people are going to get from my writing is that I like dark things that involve suicide and killing people. Come on! I’m more than that, right? And these stories I’ve picked are ones that I am proud of, one of which I actually submitted into a contest (I didn’t win sadly) and got recognition for in deviantART (yeah, that seems like a petty thing to be proud of, but none of my other works on there were hardly noticed, but this one was favorited by a good number of people and also featured in a few news articles. I say that’s something to be proud of).
It just has me feeling like crap. I feel a writers block growing. FML.
In other news, I tried Guinness beer. It’s gross. Nasty. Yucky. Luckily it wasn’t my drink. And I absolutely LOVE jalapeño poppers. Yey!
Anyways, I’m going to attempt to shove something creative out of my brain. Or read. One of the three.