I'd Rather Marvel than be Jealous · 2:42pm Last Tuesday
It doesn’t take much to surpass me.
I have a decent enough style with basic sentences that sometimes flow wonderfully together.
Other times, I tap into a strange place, and I’m able to write beyond my level for a moment.
But most of the time, I am writing inside a box, where my reach is limited, and all that I have to use is also trapped inside that box. A constant reader of my work can tell where my limitations lie and when I am ‘reaching’ and the writing tries to play itself as more as it really is.
Of course, I can twist things in the usual sentences and structures sometimes, but when it comes to actual prose and description—I’m rather lackluster. Others can use fewer words to say more. And just the same, there are those who, either out of gift or great potential, can write vividly so that one pauses to wonder how such excellent writing is possible.
Writing that, as you read it, you stop to realize how new and unique it is—how fresh and open it makes the world it’s set in. You learn a lot from those stories—the sentences they use, how they use them, the concise descriptions they use, and how exciting it all feels.
I cannot extend to that flowery, vivid place, like a branch that never stops unfurling and expanding.
A long time ago, that fact made me rather upset, and jealousy was the result.
And why not jealousy? Who doesn’t want to be better in some way—especially in their passions?
I write this blog not because I am jealous but rather my own surprise when I was not jealous.
Yesterday, a wonderful friend wrote a wonderful piece, something that, despite being excellent, didn’t seem to take them much effort at all. There were many great descriptions, and the overall writing style was very nice. Details and things I had never considered were appearing and made me think, ‘God damn, that’s good. That’s such a great detail.’
Not only that, but I was having an issue with a story I was writing for a friend, and in this unrelated story, I found several answers and things to try. Before, I would have felt greatly like a failure, failing in this aspect, while another casually wrote in a way that I desperately needed.
But instead of that, I only laughed and praised the person, reading and re-reading the work, finding new avenues to explore in my own work. To be jealous would mean to be in an unfavourable state to all. Sure. Easier said than done not to be jealous.
But I found it to be easy this go around.
I’d rather be amazed by the work and gush about all that I love about it and ensure the author is sufficiently praised for their efforts. I’d rather fully enjoy the piece and be blown away by it rather than feel like shit that I can never reach that level of excellence.
Overall, it feels much better to marvel at the piece, and then intake as much as it can into your limited box.
I don’t know what caused me to lose that side of myself. Could just be another factor of getting older—or just not taking yourself as seriously as you once did. I think part of it comes down to not feeling threatened, I guess.
I know my pros and I know my cons. I know that I’m limited and locked at a certain level, and I struggle to go beyond it. But with that being said, I am also comfortable with where I am and what I do. I don’t take it as a threat when I read amazing, vivid passages of works that seem to be of a higher, consistent calibre.
I’m happy to be doing the same old thing.
I think the more one can accept and be comfortable with themselves, the better one can be unto others.
Anyway. That’s all that I have to rant about.
I’ve been off work for two weeks due to an illness.
I'm hoping for it to go, but it might be the kind of thing that sticks with me for a while—or life.
Oh, well.
Do what you can.
And enjoy life.
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Writing is all about passion, as long as even one person can connect to the words. I think that story is a success.
Jealousy will only drive you to try replication of styles you might not even like, always better to just enjoy.
Here's to a swift recovery!
I used to be depressed when I'd read fantastic prose, knowing I'd never be able to reach those heights, but it pushed me to try and become better. It's made me read far more, which can be difficult since I'm dyslexic. (I had trouble learning to read when I was little, and my mom used comic books to help me.)
Point is, maybe continue to read a ton and maybe more of what you seek will rub off on you? Perhaps try lots of different genres?
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I've done everything under the sun and read to a large degree.
But my ass is stuck at lvl. 25 for life, lol.
I still do my best to do better and beat my fist against the ceiling of limitations, but at the same time, I'm comfortable with my 'reach.'
Praying for a speedy recovery.
More power to you, B!
And get well soon!