I’m sad and angry today and this will be a very angsty self-pitying post so… here’s your clickbait.

I hate that I don’t have the attention span to read books. I hate that I don’t have the attention span to read those lengthy writing help posts that are so useful. I hate that I don’t have the attention span for writing exercises. I hate that I don’t have the creativity to consciously come up with ideas rather than stumbling into and ripping off clichéd concepts. I hate that I can’t consciously improve my writing because I have no idea what’s good or bad writing. Sometimes I’ll read excerpts from something and it’d be labelled as ridiculous piece of writing but to me it just sounds like something I would actually write. I hate that I don’t have the attention span to stick to an idea for longer than a few weeks. I hate that I don’t have the patience to develop an idea before starting to write it because I know I’m running out of the short time I’ll be interested in writing it at all before something else draws my attention. I hate that I hyperfocus on NaNoWriMo because it’s exactly how I function. I either write a novel twice in thirty days or I don’t write one at all. I wrote Leaper in thirty days. I wrote The Rains Come TWICE in thirty days, that’s over 250k words! In Static TWICE in thirty days, 200k words. That’s not normal. And I just put Vale away in my dump folder cause I’m no longer interested even though I was so proud to advertise it as my “comfort project”. I talk about some of my NaNo works as projects that taught me something or helped me grow as a writer. It’s bullshit, I learnt nothing. I hate that my best ideas were all accidents. I hate that I have twenty ideas at once but none of them can be expressed with words; it’s just feelings instead of tangible concepts. I hate that I can’t tell if I used that semicolon correctly. I hate that I can’t write in Hungarian but I’ll never be confident enough in my English. I hate how I’ve started to become afraid to consume media for fear I’ll get discouraged by how good it is in comparison to the things I’ve written or it’ll give me a completely different idea I’ll throw an old one away for. I hate how jealous I am of fanfiction writers for the attention and instant audience they have but mostly I’m just jealous because writing good fanfiction is probably harder than writing original fiction because you have to get in the heads of characters you didn’t even create. I hate how I can’t even write fanfiction because I’m stupid. I hate that I can’t write original fiction because I’m stupid. I hate that I’m stupid. I want to be smart. I hate how angry this makes me and I hate that I love writing so much that not being able to do it and not being able to do it the way I want frustrates me to the point of crying. I know that if I enjoy writing then that’s all that should matter but even though I enjoy writing I only like it as long as I’m writing it. I know we’re all critical of what we create but I’ve destroyed things I’ve worked on for years because of how critical I was. That’s not healthy. I hate that I can’t stand up for the things I create. I hate that when I ask my sister to read the things I read I instantly feel like defending it by saying it’s crap cause I didn’t proofread. I don’t proofread because then I’d just delete everything I ever wrote. The few things I did edit I feel afraid to show people cause I no longer have an excuse for it to be bad. Yes I should write just for myself and it should make me happy but I want to write for other people. I want to write a story I’m excited to point at and say “I wrote this, you should read it because of this and that.” But the truth is, you shouldn’t read anything I wrote because there’s nothing special about them. They’re all simple as fuck concepts with nothing even remotely interesting about them. There are no themes, there are no motivations, there are no lessons, there’s nothing, you’ve read them a thousand times before. I didn’t plan anything, I just made stuff happen after the previous stuff for no reason. None of my stories were actually worth telling, I just wrote them because that’s what was in my head at the time. If I only wrote stories I want to tell I’d never put my fingers on a keyboard again.