A loss of literary innocence

 I have forgotten what it is to write. I have forgotten how well written verse comes from feeling, not from trying. I have forgotten that paragraphs form best when little thought is involved. I have forgotten what it is to have emotions so strong, ideas so pure, spontaneity so accessible, and I have forgotten what it is to write.

I put too much effort into pleasing others with my words or abiding by the “Rules of Creativity” that I have forgotten a part of me. Somewhere along this road, the innocent author, the careless novelist, the emotional poet within me, became an empty shell of what once was. I never used to bother with pleasing an audience because I never really had one. I had everything figured out because there were no algorithms, equations, processes, or guidelines involved. I understood what it meant to write because there was no meaning beyond expression. I have lost a piece of me that I have tried so hard to reclaim.

That itself is the problem; I try too hard.

I cannot return to the writer I once was because I have learned to try. Trying is something so opposite from expressing that the coexistence of the two is an idea more preposterous than time travel or breeding chairs. Expression is not something one tries to do; it is something that one simply does. The essence of expression is to capture a feeling in the moment and incorporating effort removes every ounce of accuracy, every bit of natural or impulsive reaction brought on by the ideas congregating in one’s mind. The existing tragedy is that, once one begins to write for the audience and no longer writes as unadulterated expression, the ability to disregard the need to try or abandon the act of over-contemplating every single word is diminished. It becomes impossible for one to return to the wholesome nature of everything before and leaves nothing but a feeling of hopelessness behind.

This feeling of hopelessness for my writing scares me. I feel as though nothing I write will ever be as complete as it once was and the thought itself proves that my need for audience acceptance truly has replaced the forgotten part of me.