So I haven’t been doing a lot writing lately. Well, actually, I’m not doing what I consider to be writing, which I get is a different thing. I haven’t been working on my fiction writing. I have, however, been working with vigor and passion on scenarios and player’s guides for two very different roleplaying games (RPGs).
In fact, I’ve shocked myself in that for the past week, every day when I come home, I clean the house and then sit down to work more on my roleplaying stuff. I even once stayed up until 6 am working on stuff and only went to bed because I felt like I had to. It’s great and I’m enjoying it immensely.
Further, my wife is enjoying the fact that I’ve found a passion in something again. It’s been a long while since I had that. So we’re both happy for me.
But why can’t I find that level of passion for my fiction? What’s missing?
I know that part of it is the immediate–or rather, direct–response I get from RPGs. I have an audience. I know who they are. I get feedback. We all have fun. I feel an obligation to give them a good game experience and when I do, I know it.
As an official third rate author*, I have yet to have that acceptance as a writer. So it’s hard to retain that passion.
If I don’t work on worldbuilding for my RPGs, I feel like I let my friends down. But, if I don’t write, I don’t feel like I let anyone down. No one but myself, anyway.
So where does that leave me? I don’t know. Just musing, sharing my thoughts. I want this kind of passion for my fiction. And I’m not sure how I’m going to find it. I’m not throwing in the towel just yet, but unless I find that spark that keeps me up until 6 am on a story–I wonder if maybe I’m pursuing the idea of being a writer, not actually being one.
That sounds much more depressing than I mean it to.
I guess what I mean to say is that I still dream of being a writer. I love stories and worldbuilding and characters. But maybe fiction isn’t my venue. Maybe RPGs are. I don’t know. As usual, I have lots of questions and not many answers and I could be just experiencing rejection fatigue.
All I know is that passions are weird. They crop up when you least expect it and, often, you can’t put your finger on why. You know it when you see it, or feel it. And you know when it isn’t there. So I may be on hiatus writing-wise until I can figure that out.