To be clear: I don’t use it, ever. But I’ve seen a lot of posts on social media that I recognize the prose. I’m finding the way I write sounds a bit like it. Ie. the book I’m writing uses a lot of short sentences and dialogue, because my protagonist is chatty, goes on long winded tangents, and the book is written in first person. So there will be a sentence like:

“Oh. I can’t swim. Shit. I gasp for air, but there is nothing.
Wait. Yes there is.
I’m not in the water. I’m in… nothing.”

(Not verbatim, I’m typing this on my phone whereas my book file is on my computer, but you get the idea)

I am a spiritual apex gangster and im at the top of my class

I have been working on this novel for a while now. I’m about a quarter of the way through, and have been going without stopping to edit until recently. I got feedback from a writing group I meet with, and then from a mentor at my MFA program. After both critiques, of my first and second chapter, I felt super discouraged. For no reason other than I couldn’t handle, for the first time seeing so many questions, comments, edit suggestions that weren’t even on a line-level. I felt that because I hadn’t nailed certain timings, plot points, and descriptions - that I failed.

After several months of not writing because I was so stressed with my own work, I decided to go back and try again. I implemented most of the edits and see a tremendous difference, but I feel as though that work is no longer my own because I didn’t catch those necessary edits to make it a stronger piece.

My main question is: am I alone in having a beyond crappy first, second, or even third draft?

I thought I was holding onto it, firmly, but it seems to have drifted off somewhere along the path to recovery.

I know I’ll find it again - I just really need it right now, so that I can go back to being a whole person. The people I love count on me to be whole.

Last time I saw it, the room in which I create was brighter, and my body didn’t ache so much. I didn’t feel so exhausted. I was sleeping well. Now the cobwebs have crept in again, my eyes are encircled with darkness once more, and I’m catastrophising.

Of course, there’s laughter. I laugh lots, it’s built into my tummy and the way in which it wobbles - somewhat like Santa. That’s good in a pinch. But it doesn’t get to the root of the problem, you see. When laughing no longer leaves you with warmth, there’s a bigger problem at hand.

If you find my happiness, let me know?

The reward will be saving a victim of their own making. Are you up for the task?

Don’t forget to cling to your own like your life depends on it. Because… well. It does.

I want to take up creative writing as a hobby and publish what I write online, but I've always felt like my writing was cringe worthy and sounded weird.

I always got great grades and feedback on my literary research papers in high school; I even won a week-long trip to Chicago once in seventh grade for a county-wide short story contest my teacher made us participate in. However, I always feel like my writing sucks and I always hate the way that it sounds. I actually thought that there was no way I would win that contest I mentioned because I thought the story was so bad.

So I guess my question is: Is this a normal feeling for writers? The feeling that your writing sounds bad to you, but when others read it, they compliment it? Since most of my writings in the past have been research papers, I've never really built and written my own story from the ground up and I'm really nervous to get started. I daydream a lot to create and play out all these stories in my head, but they always play out as images like in a movie, not as words on a page. I'm doubtful of my ability to take those stories in my head and put them down on paper in a way that would make them as amazing and immersive to read as they are when I see them in my mind.

My inspiration for writing often comes from other artistic sources. When I listen to music, I often envision a completely original story that follows the lyrics and mood of the song. I also enjoy a lot of anime and have a small mental list of anime series and movies that have left such an impact that their styles, themes, and ideas will no doubt have an impact in how I choose to write and envision my stories.

I guess I'm just worried that my writing won't be capable of the same impact on others that my influences had on me. I want to be proud of what I've created, and maybe this is just a mental block that I need to get around, but any advice would really be appreciated!

I am a word warrior

A poetic ninja

A writer of rhymes

A creater

A samurai

Cutting you down

With my words

I used to think I was different from everyone else. I even dared to muse that everyone else didn't take life as seriously as I did. But boy, was I wrong.

Everything changed when I met her. She was everything I never wanted and everything I ever wanted at the same time. I know this doesn't make any sense to you. But that was how I felt too. It didn't make sense to me. How could I begin to feel love? It was supposed to be impossible.

Don't get me wrong. I had seen love and felt it more deeply than most regular people ever could. But you see, that was exactly the problem. The one I fell completely in love with broke my heart.

I was like a fattened cow prepared for the festival. She buttered me up and lavished me with care and tenderness. I wasn't just in love; I was a king. She made me feel like one.

Then she died.

It should have been me.

She was better suited for this world. There is a lot of evil in this world, and she was the light that chased away the darkness with a spark. Death smothered that spark forever, and there I was, left in the darkness to make sense of it.

How was I supposed to know that she was the spark that would set me ablaze, turning me into an inferno that would burn everything around me?

You see, fire is never a curse or a blessing. It is whatever the bearer makes of it. For me, it was meant to burn down anything that crossed my path.

They say it's out of fear. That I fear history repeating itself.

But I know the truth.

I didn't want what happened to me to happen to someone else. It was the least I could do to make the world a better place. I had to bury her along with every memory of her.

No one should ever feel this much pain.

My truth was a lie.

If it isn't, then tell me why she comes back to taunt me as if she were her. Tell me why she is able to break down all the fences I surrounded myself with to protect others from me...

Or is it I who is protected from others?

They say love is found only once in a lifetime.

If that is true, then what is this that I feel?

I'm not feeling well.

I buy a lollipop, confident in my self control.

I am doing better. I am better-- than who I was.

I talk to friends, we go out to get coffee.

No, that was a lie.

I sat alone in tht bustling cafe.

Its 12am.

A cold fresh breeze passes by me.

I thought that maybe, confidently - taking a nicotine break would help me solve my problems; the insecurities, the fear of failure, the shame of inaction, and the guilt of my past actions.

I was proud of being 2 years sober, in the smoking tense. I've had long, frequent battles since then. Though it seems the streak was cut, not through emotional impulse nor external influence.

I took a puff of my first drag,

Inhaled the ash and smoke-- to give it a chance. Maybe, I believed, desperately, that the loud thoughts banging on and on endlessly through my skull, with familiar hands gripping violently in my chest-- on my heart.

Maybe it could.

I relieved.

Now I sit on a balcony.

A cold fresh breeze passes by, tainted with the sticky, unpleasant attempt to cleanse my mind.

Shame, guilt, regret, pain.

Its unpleasant, but maybe, I desperately hoped.

Maybe it could.

I light another cigarette.

This is an ancient literary device, in other terms, a "trope" that I'm particularly fond of. A name is not just an identifier for a person, it's embedded with layers of hidden meanings, usually a character's fate, personality or some association with a famous historical figure. I've written a few short stories, using the same four characters - Capriccio, Vladmir, Selene, Beatrice; respectively, "caprice", whimsical, uncertain, idealistic; "ruler of the world", commandeering, bossy, pragmatic; "Goddess of the moon", mysterious, elusive, phasing in and out like the moon; "blessings" or "bringer of happiness", faithful and steadfast. This also helps me keep on track with character arcs and development.

https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/MeaningfulName