There really is no remedy to this problem other than to keep writing, I have come to realize.
Hard as it is, mediocre pieces are inevitable, and they are my worst enemy, but who says brilliance can’t spring forth from within those drab lines.
So soon, I have become lost and immersed in my own insecurity, it is pitiful I know, and I’m sure I have gone through this treatment before, so after this paragraph it ends.
I remember coming across my first Frank Herbert novel, well, I found out about the Dune series while watching the Hallmark Channel. It was a different world all entirely and thinking that the images had been adapted from words written by someone intrigued me. So my search began, several bookshops and roadside fire sales bore the marks of my somewhat ‘mellow’ desperate search, it was rewarding nonetheless as I came across other works of fiction that have come to shape my internal voice, the one which speaks when I put pen to paper or tap at the keyboard.
Herbert’s world is flawless in its extremities in a way that is hard to describe, words in print create a never imagined world of fish speakers and sand trout, yet Herbert has imagined them to a near perfection that is glorious to behold.
Moral dilemmas have been created that are unique to this world and eventually, you as a reader come to empathize with the varying predicaments characters are faced with. It is not a matter of being caught up in the ‘details’, rather you read through descriptions that seem almost as if Herbert himself has been and lived amongst these very otherworldly beings.
What I’ve just described above is the sort of work I aspire to create.
What my mind seeks to find.
Imagination is a beautiful thing, being able to harness it and make it work for you can bring indescribable joy(I know this).
Maybe I’ll simply show you guys what I’m trying to say.