I recently discovered my talent for whimsical writing (or so I tell myself) and realised alongside that I am extremely good at writing the same thing over and over again. I note down silly little tales with anonymous narrators and voyeurs who are always meeting, kissing and falling in love. My writing unfortunately does not progress from here. At first I thought I was improving my snapshots or pieces of flash fiction as I would pack 300 words full of intensity and sexual excitement, sensuality and carefully selected adjectives to make any lexicographer proud. But however proud I am of my little repetitive whimsy, I seem to be stuck in my whimsical rut. Should I be happy that I this is it for my writing ability or devastated that this is the best I can write?
Have you ever been proud of your work yet ashamed at the same time? Help!