The Boards broke me. That much has been clear as my glasses. It may not look like they did, but it happened. The breakage wasn’t emotional or physical, it was literary.
My sentences are terrible. My prose is weak. My plots are dull. My characters are thin. My style is dead, and it’s all because of the Boards.
I don’t know if that’s how the Boards are, but my English teacher certainly hated the way I wrote. I’m sure she meant well. Except, now, instead of she hating everything I wrote, and me enjoying writing it, it’s become the opposite. Granted: I’ve left school now, but I still feel like she would have liked the things I’m writing. I certainly hate them.
Writing has become boring for me. Earlier, it was a means of escape, so I could get away from this crappy world, and make worlds of my own. Now, I can’t even start. Sure, I’ve started many times. I’ve had ideas that sound excellent. But every time I start, I hit Ctrl-A, backspace. I can’t – for the life of me – write something that I enjoy reading. I go, “Ok. Ok. Wait, what? Ew. No!” and boom. Back to square one.
For example, I had an excellent idea for a mystery story, but once I was done, I knew inside me that it was the worst thing I’d ever written. Everything was predictable. I hated my own writing. I’d begun to imitate the books I hated most. I’d begun to make every one of my pieces a worthless pile of cliché dung. I hated my work.
So, here I am. Apologizing. Of course, I won’t put anything here that I don’t like, myself, so I’m not apologizing for the content. I’m apologizing for the lack thereof. I’m apologizing for not posting anything at all, offering the explanation of taking some time to get myself together. I’m sorry.
I’m working on something quite cool, though, but it’s not perfect yet. Once it’s perfect, you’ll see it. Just you wait.