I’m trying to allow myself to be more sentimental, at least when it comes to my non-fiction writing.  Although sentimentality is not exactly where I think my writing shines, it’s where I express myself the best.  There’s this pressure in fiction writing to be clever, artistic, and subtle.  Show, don’t tell.  Anyone who’s taken a creative writing class knows this phrase, expressing the concept that art is more effective if the reader is more like a first hand witness than a second hand listener.  But most of my attempts to go for that high technical difficulty score that I believe would impress the judges have so far been rather bland.  When I strive for that genius subtlety, that works on you like the warmth of a slowly filling bathtub, I come  off a little dull.  I think my problem is that my narrative lacks a voice.  So I figured I’d practice with my own, so that I can inject some personality into my fiction.

My subtlety was too subtle.  I thought I was so clever leaving breadcrumbs for my readers to follow, but they would often end up lost and confused.  I clung to the rule and the fear of writing badly.  But instead of agonizing whether my reader would get this hint or that hidden meaning, I should really just let myself write badly.  Well, I don’t mean write bad on purpose, more just letting myself not try to write good.  I can tell them what I wan them to know and maybe whittle away the details if it turns out they aren’t needed.  Writing seems to take on a life of its own anyway, turning out accidental metaphors and meanings all on its own.  Writing sometimes seem like a vomiting Ouroboros; instead of the snake eating his tail, he’s spiting more of himself back up.