People have always asked me why I've chosen to write my stories in my second language instead of my native one. I started doing so because I found Elfwood.com and wanted to share my stories. Then it just flowed on like that and when I starte´d to write in Swedish again it sounded odd. I couldn't put my finger on why it sounded odd. It was as if the words were flatter, less vibrant. I blamed Swedish, and kept going with English.
Lately, I've started to notice the same in English. The stories aren't as good as they once were and I thought: How can you become WORSE at something?
The other day I started to translate two WIPs into Swedish. Just because maybe my family will be easier to coerce into reading my writing than my friends are.
Translating my writing to my native language had a worrying effect. I realised (for real this time) that I'm not good at writing. As long as I weren't that great at English I didn't notice how lacking my skills were. Back in the start it all sounded awesome to me (it sounds even better in French which is my third language).
So. Yeah. You guys. I hate you for never making me see the truth. Now I've given up so much for this dream that I don't know how I'll manage to live without it.