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

New place

This is the second lunch I've passed in this downtown Barnes and Noble. I like this place. If I worked here I would undoubtedly come here for lunch. It is going to be hard forfeiting the hour and fifteen lunches, but normal life is less stressful than this. I am not cut out for city living. I still had driving troubles today. These one way streets are so difficult. I don't understand parking, and I like finding locations that I "cain't miss" from the road. Everything is so densely packed. Everyone else seems to have walked somewhere, but I celebrate lunchtime as the time to get as far away from the work as possble with as much comfort as possible, and Subway, I'm sorry, is not comfortable. Last night I slept from 7 p.m. to 5 a.m. when I had to call in. I have slept so much lately, but I feel in such a muddle. My head is pounding. If I were home I don't think I could put myself together enough to do any of my things. I really long to do things, too. Writing...

Gervaise

1789 Gervaise was the first one to enter Delphinia's bedchamber. Golden light spread through a crack in the white curtains, throwing a lacey pattern onto the silk-shrouded bed. Delphinia lay in the finest guest bedchamber in the castle. It had been converted from the room of the dowager Markgrafin upon her death. Though Gervaise's entrance was not quiet, there was no stirring in the midst of the great bed. Gently Gervaise laid down the tray of chocolate and great cinnamon rolls and approached the bed, pushing aside the curtain to view the prone figure there. Delphinia lay in a contorted state, her limbs drawn up against her protectively, looking like a frightened child, though she was in the depths of sleep. Her hair, dark-colored, the finer strands gilded and curling around her face and brow, was mangled, freed from its pins without a combing. She wore a loose white shift, no nightgown. Gervaise was not offended by disorder or carelessness, but Delphinia's disarray gave he...