I love writing but...

I pride myself on my ability to write an amazing essay, research paper, or whatever an english assignment may be. However as of recent I decide to divulge myself into writing a short story for fun. Although it may seem rather strange, writing for no reason and all, it seemed sensible to me. After all, I like writing, I'm bored, and TV shows just aren't very amusing any more. So I decide to write a story after I was inspired by an assignment I had a semester ago.

The assignment was to write a narrative essay describing my personal Utopia, and link with it the importance of imagination. When I first attempted this assignment it was bloody. I attempted to write it numerous times, but each time it came out to flowery and unreal. Below is an excerpt:

The water glows faintly in comparison with the shrubbery and exotic plants encasing the area. Alluring flowers of entrancing purples and luminescent reds demand my attention as I walk into the area. Touching the petals I look at my hand almost expecting to see wet paint due to the vibrancy of the petals, but I see none. Placing the petals between my fingers I feel a silk-like texture between them. Daringly I lean towards the flower and inhale slightly. With my eyes closed I let the scent fill my nostrils, oddly enough it reminds me of freshly baked cookies, and cupcakes.

Its not bad, but I felt like it was completely and totally fake. Truth is when I close my eyes I don't see any of this, rather I see destruction and adventure. Sad fact is that no matter how often I attempted to write this and make it seem more me like, it failed. It was only when my brother turned to me and said "write what you actually see did I decide to scrap the flowery work and go for an odd take on a Utopia.

So the night before this essay was due I was up all night writing about a boy on a train who enjoys destruction, and looses his grasp on reality. I got an A on that paper, though I received A's on every paper, I was proud. I fell in love with the concept of the story and began editing and now as I look back at it I realize what my 3 page essay has become... a 13 paged short story with over 4000 words. I'm still editing though, but the concept is still there.

However, as I reach the ending point of this story I ponder: What will I write next? I have plenty of ideas, but no solid concept, no plot just floating ideas... As much as I love writing I truly do hate when I can't fully process what it is I want to write.

For today's random bit of insight: No matter how much you enjoy something, the second you are forced to do it, you'll love it just a little less.