Selfish, egocentric, sometimes lost.

I have always thought of my writing as deeply personal. It is something that most writers say, in fact it may even be an accepted fact. Often published works get torn apart in search of what the writer really thinks, scenes are related to their lives to try and find their beginning. People want to know if writers write about themselves, they want the fact beyond the fiction.

I am here to tell you that writers are an entirely selfish group. We write about ourselves constantly. But, before you go picking through your favourite novel for personality insights you must realise something. Yes, our hearts and souls are in that work, but you will not find us there.

What I am trying to say is that everything I write is a part of me, but unless you know what you are looking for you will never find me in it. I could relate that to the island in Pirates of the Caribbean. 'It can be found only by those who know where it is.' (Probably the wrong quote but it has the same gist) A lot of the time, even I have no idea of exactly which part of me I am divulging in a piece of work. Some make me feel more naked than others, and most of the time I do not even know why. I just know that there is something deeply personal about what I am handing out, and it makes my skin crawl.

I suppose we could add egocentric to selfish. And why not? To share our work is to say look, this is something I like, this is something I am proud of. If we go with my, 'there is a piece of a writer in his/her work' theory then that makes us extremely egocentric. 'Look, stare at this majestic part of my self! Marvel at my psyche!'

So what happens when we begin to lose ourselves?

I have been able to write little but fragments for the passed few months. I may have finished the first draft of my novel but I also feel like when I read over the ending I will not find what I am looking for within it. It is a scary prospect, that we might change, that actually that piece we held close to our heart has drifted from sight. I could read something from a year ago right now and not find a shred of myself in it. It is scarier still that I might have just completed a 95 000 word first draft only to not be able to feel the warmth that I felt when writing it.

Something has slipped, I have slipped. My writing is coming out with a more serious tone, a more realistic edge that I never thought I'd want to feel. Others must have gone through this, to think themselves one kind of writer when they were young, only to turn around and be on an island that nobody can find, surrounded by water. If we run with that analogy then really I am sitting on the edge of my island dipping my toes in the cold, ice water. I want to jump in, and really I suppose I should. It is always best to jump straight in and get used to the cold water rather than dally on the side.