For the past ten or eleven years, I've also dreamed of becoming a published writer. I suppose in a way I am -- I do have the one story that got published in the first Christmas anthology by LDS Publisher. But I wanted to write an entire book and have it be accepted for publication, then become a bestseller.
But although I have made so much progress over the past decade, I now feel like I'm hitting a wall. I don't feel capable of resolving situations, whether they are in real life or in plots. How many times have I come up with ideas, only to reject them because I can't see how to work them out? One online friend asked me to take that Christmas story and turn it into a book. I didn't know how then, and I still don't know how. I couldn't extrapolate those few elements into something bigger.
And most if not all of my main characters end up acting like me, and I've already mentioned that I very probably have Asperger's Syndrome. Even when I try to create main characters who aren't based on me, I know they tend to slide in that direction anyway. Then, of course, there's the problem that was pointed out to me last year, that my characters don't react realistically. They probably aren't all that sympathetic, either.
I've written in various fandoms over the years, and although I know my grammar and spelling are good, I've always wondered why my stories just aren't as popular as those of others. Now I'm starting to get a glimpse of why -- it's all down to the "soul" of the story. And my Asperger's soul shines through with unmistakeable clarity. Even if the readers don't know exactly why, I'm sure they sense that there's just a different feeling there, whereas other authors show energy, cheerfulness, resourcefulness, good people skills, and all kinds of other positive qualities that make for a more pleasant reading experience.
Or so it seems to me. Anyway, I am taking a break from writing for now, because I am feeling quite depressed about the whole thing. I used to think I had a talent for writing, but maybe it's just a talent for memorizing grammar and spelling. I will try to hang onto the dream, in hopes of coming back to it later when I'm feeling better, but I can already feel it inching towards my Garden of Unviable Ambitions. No doubt it's aiming for a place next to the lumpy, ungainly, and downright flawed statues of all the other dreams I used to have, projects that nobody else would recognize without a big explanatory sign, and sometimes not even then, because I never got very far or did very well on any of them.
Maybe I should have stayed in the library.