writing jumblies

Sometimes when I write, I feel like my words don't mean anything. I think trying to describe how you feel is one of the most difficult things in the world. Which, to me at least, is funny since it's basically what I've been doing my whole life. What I'll have a degree in. But, I've been thinking a lot about writing in terms of what it means to me lately-- and nothing is ever what I expected. I want to know what MBTI classification most writers get, I also want to know their color codes, and their Strengths Quest strengths. Because I can't figure out if everything tells me how much and how deep I feel is why I write, or why I struggle to write. 
I'm retaking Advanced Fiction Writing this spring. I took it my sophomore year, wrote the first 50 pages of a novel, and loved the class. Since I don't need to take any classes next semester, I decided to take it over (and luckily I can get credit since we're writing novellas this time). I think I know what I want to write about, but I don't feel like I'm "distant" enough from it. Distance is huge in writing. I feel like distance and perception can make or break a story, but where is the balance? Where is the line between something being too close to your heart and being so far away that it no longer matters? That's what I'm trying to figure out right now. In this class, there won't be time for me to begin writing something and then figure out that I have to change topics. I have to know my plan from day one, and it's stressing me out. 
For my Virginia Woolf/Jane Austen class, we chose our own novel(s) by either author and have had the past few weeks to research and write our final papers. Needless to say, I chose Virginia Woolf. I knew I loved her before I took the class (and worried about suffering through a whole semester of Jane Austen), but now I am convinced that she is one of the most powerful authors of all time. One of the journals I read focuses on Woolf and the aspect of melancholy. And, to not go too literary theory, the idea that melancholy is a strictly male provocation of genius. Thus, Woolf was just mad. Her depression did not add to her genius nor help her write some of the most powerful pieces of all time-- it just made her crazy. False. False. False. She wrote from pure emotion-- pure feminine emotion-- and that is why she is so incredible. This article has completely changed what I want to write my essay about. I'll probably be pulling an all-nighter Tuesday night now, but I hope it will be worth it. 
I wonder if Virginia Woolf ever felt like her words didn't mean anything? I'm sure she did. Maybe someday I'll figure out how to tap into my melancholy and I'll write something awesome. For now, I'm happy writing mediocre blog posts for the few people who care about reading them. I'm figuring myself out right now, and that's all I really need my writing to do.