What’s happening to me is weird and unexpected.
I thought I was ready to deal with anything. That, surely, it would come a day when I wouldn’t have any good ideas left in my head and I would feel, like they call it, with the writer’s block. Writing in a 2000-words-a-day speed would plunge it to come even sooner. But that is not how I feel.
If I sit down and write, everything that comes out is easily transformed into good ideas, where I can visualize potential for a page-turning story. But something is wrong with me.
I have searched inside me for any sign of clarity, because only then I could plan a solution. I was never afraid of problems as long as I know what they are and I can plan what to do next. Even this tendency of mine, of wanting to control everything, I’ve seen it become a problem to my writing, so I’ve changed and overcame it.
Now I just let myself go along whichever road my characters want me to follow. And it all runs better and faster. But something isn’t right.
I think what I’m feeling circles around the fear of working an illusion. I’m feeling completely helpless regards my english. I study, I read, I write and I see how much I’ve improved (…) but I feel as I’ve reached a Wall.
I feel like a blind man writing, without the slightest idea if what it seems as good prose to me is nothing but a pathetic attempt, full of errors in the eyes of native speakers.
I feel exhausted and desolated. I’ve already tried so much (…) will an editor see so many language problems in my draft that reading it will feel like a waste of his time? Will an agent mockingly laugh at my prose?
It’s hard on me because I was always top of the class in Portuguese Language and I know how much people are undeservedly defined by the way they talk; as I have been the target of xenophobic comments myself (…) I know how much people are labeled as stupid if they express poorly in the language of another country, and it has been my goal to improve. It’s hard to be so good with words and so respected in my native language and know I must sound like a fool in my daily life in Ireland.
Writing a novel is, in theory, easier. A writer has time to think and look for the best words and grammatical structures. But what if we reach a point where we can no longer be our own editor? When it all seems perfect to our eyes. How do we SEE how many steps are needed to be good enough?
I wish I could be a native english speaker for a day. I feel like I’m writing in a World-size room, with the lights eternally turned off.
I don’t know how long this will go on (…) but I’ve had the kind of life that taught me the only friend I can count on for a fact is me. And as I prepare to write, I know one of two things will happen: I will give up or I will be published.Or maybe it’s just PMS…