Misunderstanding My Rhythm

When I first started writing I mostly wrote poems and songs.  Back then everything I did focused on the rhythm of sentences and sounds of the words.  I could care less about whether the sentences made any sense.  That didn't interest me.  All I wanted was sentences that were beautiful to my ears.  That incoherent, rambling of random words made little sense to anyone but me.  Over the years I continued to use that style, even when it came to writing short stories and novellas, mixing in storytelling a little at a time.  As you can imagine, very few people enjoyed reading anything I wrote.  Some did.  Some people got it.  But not many. 

It took a while for me to find a balance between building rhythmic sentence structure and storytelling.  If there was too much straight story I became bored.  If it was too much random words, my readers would become bored.  Over the years I began to evolve the balance.  If you read my first two novels you can see the progression changing.  Eventually though, I realized that I was never going to have a steady readership if I didn't lose the random worded sentences. 

It took me a while to get to that point.  But I finally did make the realization.  I pushed myself and focused on storytelling and growing as a writer.  Now, I can write full novels without falling back on my random sentences.  Sometimes I miss that style.  If I read my old stuff I still smile and laugh.  I love it.  But I can see now that my new stuff is so much better.    

Here is a quick example of my old style.  I love this paragraph.

 There once was a place that missiles became lovely ideas of change and sticks for arms was gravitational arthritis. When the extremities of nighttime really meant to shovel out someone’s head. Blood only tastes good in your mouth. My decisive orphans cut their veins with tiny versions of knives and kiss boys by the wishing well. Reducible pox intoxicated scapegoats mansion twins for necessary near-beer phobias, then twist my wrist she hated hypnotics. Filtered wife epiphany vanquished graver bellyaches to natterjack partnerships by stepladders or cellars. The julian floorwalkers mustard rhinestone sod worms infecting woozy aviation equivalents to congregate gunboat. I endorse stabbed gullets.