Hi there,
I believe myself to be one of your number (even though I sometimes strangely type as 5w4) and I'm having trouble writing my novel. It is an unforseen problem (though I foresaw difficulty in expression) and I don't know if its related to its state of infancy and that these issues will dissipate on their own accord as time goes on . Basically I started writing it back in November however I have molded it into a creative vision over the course of a long time. I recall ideas for it as far back as 2010 (I do not remember when they first occurred) but that the original, completely disconnected ideas were more related to me (much more related to my dreams as a person.) Since then it has grown into a gigantic monster inside my mind, although the internal universe of it is consistent the various ideas of it scrape painfully together as if they were large shards of glass rather than jigsaw pieces fitting seamlessly together. Thousands of years of in-universe history, mythology, political intrigue, dreams, ambition, motives and personalities for a number of characters are all swirling around and connected (sometimes tenuously) to each other and they constitute the novel's setting. Many ideas are woven together to become critical in the motives and dynamics of the universe but they make the plot a bit wishy washy and diluted so a central strong plot becomes less likely to achieve. It has become freaking huge which I will somehow have to compress into n number of pages whilst maintaining in my opinion its vast scope so the novel is a story inside the universe rather than a story with a backstory tacked on to it. But this is all a side issue.
I wanted this novel to become the total expression of my creativity in all its extent (how big or small that may be) however its now become an independent entity of itself, removed from the neck deep river of inner emotion, envy, desire and filth I reside in. It is perhaps comparable to a floating continent above the ocean. However in its time it has become completely impersonal and not an extension of me in any way. It has become a mere tool for me to spew out with the aim that it generates enough money so I can perhaps quit my crappy job and after its completion not care about it again. The problem is that its disconnection means I cannot express myself in the ideas executed and thus cannot write up to the projected standard and quality I expected. It's sad that for my writing to resemble any sort of eloquence requires digging deep into the trenches and putting my heart and soul into what is mined. This isn't just an age old tale of practice falling short of theory; The platform I use to execute my ideas is completely sterile, I feel nothing for what I write when I write it as if it were coming straight out of the butt end of my crappy Te and nowhere else. The end result is a heartless piece of crap I cannot write as I suppose it has become like a child who has now grown into a stroppy teenager and communicates to me now only by showing me their middle finger. I feel it has as much potential as mediocre works out there and can't bring myself to achieve the only purpose it has left. If I cannot do what I can to make it greater than said mediocrity and end up making a flawed screw up version I've wasted the better half of at least 2.5 years of brain cells on what at best was a white elephant.
Tl;dr version: There is no emotion in my writing and it's making me facepalm. Has any other type 4's encountered this problem and managed to overcome it, producing a respectable piece as a result? My natural issues are being multiplied by my dilemma. Or am I wrong about all this and assume that this isn't about my writing and it's perhaps the case that my emotional inner world is simply dying out at the ripe old age of 25?
Could anyone advise? Thank you.
I believe myself to be one of your number (even though I sometimes strangely type as 5w4) and I'm having trouble writing my novel. It is an unforseen problem (though I foresaw difficulty in expression) and I don't know if its related to its state of infancy and that these issues will dissipate on their own accord as time goes on . Basically I started writing it back in November however I have molded it into a creative vision over the course of a long time. I recall ideas for it as far back as 2010 (I do not remember when they first occurred) but that the original, completely disconnected ideas were more related to me (much more related to my dreams as a person.) Since then it has grown into a gigantic monster inside my mind, although the internal universe of it is consistent the various ideas of it scrape painfully together as if they were large shards of glass rather than jigsaw pieces fitting seamlessly together. Thousands of years of in-universe history, mythology, political intrigue, dreams, ambition, motives and personalities for a number of characters are all swirling around and connected (sometimes tenuously) to each other and they constitute the novel's setting. Many ideas are woven together to become critical in the motives and dynamics of the universe but they make the plot a bit wishy washy and diluted so a central strong plot becomes less likely to achieve. It has become freaking huge which I will somehow have to compress into n number of pages whilst maintaining in my opinion its vast scope so the novel is a story inside the universe rather than a story with a backstory tacked on to it. But this is all a side issue.
I wanted this novel to become the total expression of my creativity in all its extent (how big or small that may be) however its now become an independent entity of itself, removed from the neck deep river of inner emotion, envy, desire and filth I reside in. It is perhaps comparable to a floating continent above the ocean. However in its time it has become completely impersonal and not an extension of me in any way. It has become a mere tool for me to spew out with the aim that it generates enough money so I can perhaps quit my crappy job and after its completion not care about it again. The problem is that its disconnection means I cannot express myself in the ideas executed and thus cannot write up to the projected standard and quality I expected. It's sad that for my writing to resemble any sort of eloquence requires digging deep into the trenches and putting my heart and soul into what is mined. This isn't just an age old tale of practice falling short of theory; The platform I use to execute my ideas is completely sterile, I feel nothing for what I write when I write it as if it were coming straight out of the butt end of my crappy Te and nowhere else. The end result is a heartless piece of crap I cannot write as I suppose it has become like a child who has now grown into a stroppy teenager and communicates to me now only by showing me their middle finger. I feel it has as much potential as mediocre works out there and can't bring myself to achieve the only purpose it has left. If I cannot do what I can to make it greater than said mediocrity and end up making a flawed screw up version I've wasted the better half of at least 2.5 years of brain cells on what at best was a white elephant.
Tl;dr version: There is no emotion in my writing and it's making me facepalm. Has any other type 4's encountered this problem and managed to overcome it, producing a respectable piece as a result? My natural issues are being multiplied by my dilemma. Or am I wrong about all this and assume that this isn't about my writing and it's perhaps the case that my emotional inner world is simply dying out at the ripe old age of 25?
Could anyone advise? Thank you.
