day 115
it's a funny feeling: i've heard of people who have passed on my short stories to other people they know who then read them and, from time to time, got back to me. knowing i am read by virtual or complete strangers feels uncanny. i wonder if, just like with chinese whisper, anything of what i say comes through at all. i mean, even posting here is like putting small paper ships on lake constance - what i let go is often personally lost, in a way, so maybe that's why i write good, meaningful stuff so seldom. some days i really feel blank and used up. there are times i wish i were one of those workaholics/ maniacs that just have to create something new every five minutes... but then again that doesn't sound like a very rich life, either.
...and i'm writing, you know, it's not like i ain't writing.
1 comment:
Now, isn't that business-as-usual when writing for an audience you do not know face-to-face? Me I just pretend to write without looking for readers - although I would like to have some. But usually I force the people I am living with to listen to what I consider well written - mostly VERY polite persons, I fear. So I get feedback, let it be biased by personal feelings. On the other hand I like the imagination of eagerly awaiting readers somewhere out there in cyberspace - I'm sure there aren't a lot, maybe one? two?. It helps feeling important when knowing you aren't. So what!
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