Skip to main content

For the first time, I feel I am left with nothing

For twelve years I have consoled myself with one story. One story that I have written over and over, believed it was my very best work, and that even if nothing ever exceeded it, it would be enough to have written it.

It seems that story is an unconscious plaigarism of The King of the Castle. I found a few similarities throughout as I am re-reading the book. Today, I have found too many and feel nauseous. I feel like Helen Keller, who unintentionally plaigarized a story, and swore never again to write fiction, since she could not trust her mind.

I remembered nothing of what happened in King of the Castle till I picked it up again. I did not realize the similarities, the identical circumstances. If not The King of the Castle, I can draw a source for almost every detail of my story. It is unoriginal. Why didn't I know till now?

I feel like a fool. I know I am not left with nothing, but I feel like so much less of a writer when I think how heavily influenced I am by other works. The only solution? Read works so far above my skill level I would never succeed in emulating them. And read many, many works by many different authors. Try not to stay on the same subject for too long at a time.

But really, my writing is far less influenced by others now. I can think of absolutely no source for A Raven for a Lark except my own extensive visions, and the same goes for its prequel, Halcyon Days.

Popular posts from this blog

Cassandra stood poised at her vanity mirror. Her long hair, which spilled past her waist, was twisted in one hand, and in the other was a pair of jeweled scissors.

As she lifted the scissors to cut, a larger hand wrapped around hers. Cassandra withdrew with a cry. "Kell! I didn't see you come in." He took the scissors away. "I take it you got the job." "I did," she said crisply. "Return my scissors to me." "Not if you intend to cut off your hair. What do you mean by this nonsense?" "I can't have long hair in the laboratory. It might catch fire or something." "Look there." He guided her to the window. Below them lay the scattered remains of a centuries-old city park. The benches were near invisible due to growth, while the pond had extended far beyond its original boundaries. Ducks floated serenely on its surface. "We played as children. Do you remember how you prized your hair?" Cassandra laughed a little drily. "Of course. I insisted all my powers as princess lay in my hair. I was haughty. unworthy of the friendship of you and your sister." ...
more &

Where does it lie

I look out onto the yellow and brown vegetation beneath my window, at the castle-like buildings far away and wonder where do I lie in all of this? There was a time when I was unfettered. This was a time before I entered the working world, before I was independent. My heart was free as a bird when I was in college. I did not know what happiness I experienced in my creativity because I had never known different. In other aspects of my life I knew pain but my stories, sprung up lately from a gothic mist into an immersing Pre-Raphaelite painting, were a richness and the most beautiful thing I had ever known. That the most beautiful thing I knew to exist happened inside of me made me very happy, even though I didn't know it. Now I know the sun is setting, even though I can't see it, because the bank of brown, twisted trees and shrubs is lit gold, like a reflection from a golden chalice. Slowly, slowly it will fade until everything is a homogenous, uncertain gray. This is the nightma...
more &

Josian

Josian (DikaDoll Kay) is currently sporting the Edward Cullen-esque wig. I photographed him amid the pokeweed, ubiquitous here south of Fort Worth.  I have had Josian since July of 2015. I am currently reading Evermore  by Alyson Noel and have been feeling some YA fiction vibes lately.  
more &