Cold in my heart what happened to the story

writing life

A good question. The question at all. Not for the first time that I've wondered about it (and I'm certainly not alone in this). To be honest, the thought has been going through my mind a lot lately. I could just stop writing. But in the phases when I am not writing, I think a lot about writing. What I want to write, how I can best package a text. I jot down ideas of which I have quite a few. And write about why I can't write right now. By the side.

Does an artist need an emotional emergency, be it positive or negative, to be creative? I have the impression. And that's not just my experience. Many writers (and other artists) torment themselves with their dark, unfulfilled longings, fears, insecurities, etc.

Graham Green, for example, saw his writing as a way of escaping the madness and melancholy of human existence. It was inexplicable to him how other people coped with their lives without being able to alleviate their fears through writing, composing, or painting (or other creative activities).

It is in the human mind, the feeling: there has to be something else! How far can i go I often have the feeling that we are writing because of a lack. In our texts we compensate for what we miss in our “normal” everyday life.

For me personally, I can say yes. In fact, there are hardly any sensational things happening in my life - a constant state of emergency can be really exhausting - but in my daydreams and my texts they come and go. Am i addicted to adventure? It's safe at home and nothing can happen to me in my stories - just in case there is always a twist that saves me from the fire that I started myself.

How much (self-generated) chaos and emotions do I need to be able to write? What is the hole in my heart that I am trying to plug by writing and what happens when it closes? Is it still possible to write then?

Why am I writing? Because I am looking. Because I write my life beautiful / exciting. On the other hand, I have recently felt that I have arrived. In me. In my life, in my desires. Sure, not everything is perfect, but I'm pleasantly satisfied.

Satisfaction is not an engine. The motto: I write my life beautifully, is increasingly taking a back seat. How much hole is there in my heart? I have always considered it desirable to achieve this balanced, relaxed state. However, I find it inhibiting my creativity.

Is that just one of the many phases? I know two writers who no longer write, even though they wrote very often years ago. To be honest, I'm a little bit panicked. What if I stopped writing? What will happen to me then? Thinking about it is sacrilege to me. That may - it can not - be. It is what I can, what I want, what inspires me, what fulfills me. I don't want to believe that it could be otherwise!

Do I have to redefine my motivation to write? If yes how? What motivates more than a hole in the heart that you want to plug? There are means of all kinds and strengths, intoxicants, sex, money, work ... art. Everyone has their own preference. My medium was / is writing.

George R.R. Martin said in an interview: “There is a perfect story in the head that the writer tries to write down. Like a translator. ”I think he speaks to us from the heart. Everything is there in our imagination. The place, the people, the happening. And then it's our turn. Turning imagination into words. It's not as easy as some people imagine. Write books. Keeping a story going for hundreds of pages. What is the story about? To create the characters that live, to move them, to breathe a soul into them that draws the reader to himself and with whom he can at best identify. To find a good introduction to the story, to build and maintain tension, and to find a meaningful ending.

You can't just shake that off your sleeve. This includes concentration, perseverance, ideas, an "eye" for the characters, time, calm, inspiration, the courage to jump over one's own shadow and: craft. Writing is just as demanding an art as any other art. Hard work. Even so, writing seems to be one of the lesser arts in the eyes of others. All I can say about this is: first write a book - then we'll talk further.

Whatever motivation drives me to write in the end - I keep coming back to my desk. Writing is my means of filling holes in my heart. To explain the world to me, to have my fears under control, to experience adventure, to feel the flow, to oppose something to the madness, to keep my mind flexible.

What pushes out, no one can stop for a long time. The expression finds a way. Again and again. Like drops hollow out the stone until the dam breaks. That is why I am writing: to see the raging torrent. As page after page fills up, the story grows, from the first sentence to the end. Pictures of my imagination black on white. Pure pleasure.

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