I think the thing I like about writing non-fiction, such as the bullshit you find here, is that even if it’s cliched and trite, it’s real, so it’s not my fault as a crappy author, but life’s fault for not bringing me something more original.
When I sit down to write fiction, though, I do feel like everyone has already said everything I want to say, but better, and that I am just piecing together alternative versions of stories that have already been told more eloquently.
Really, it’s no wonder that people deliberately choose to retell well-told tales. You can put that nagging suspicion that someone has already done this to rest. Yes, they have. Beowulf is already a poem. We all know how creation stories go. Four or five other people have already told us Macbeth from the witches’ point of view. And who doesn’t love Wicked?
But when you’re sitting down trying to write something new, you worry a lot that it’s not, that you’re saying something that’s already been said, repeatedly. And you worry that what you’re saying is not that surprising, but is instead fairly obvious.
Because, of course, it must be obvious or you would not have come up with it so easily.