I am too happy to write. I might be on to something. I mean Sylvia Plath was not exactly a freak of nature. Writers are morose people, in so much pain that only ink and paper can alleviate it.
I am pretty content. I have dark thoughts at times- but without proper context, it just comes across as wanting to kill dumb people.
Writing like hooking up needs context. A space in which to exist and just be. Without context all you have are words strung together- and that hardly ever inspires anyone.
I suppose what I am saying is that I will dig deep within me for some pain. Damn the parental unit for being so nice to me. I wonder if nice can illicit some higher meaning? I shall look into it.
Since I am boring even myself- let me sign off.
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
Thursday, May 19, 2011
They call it the blues
Here I am after exactly 3 months of this new venture. I chickened out as I am prone to do- but am ready to give it my best shot. Well rather this for now than a certain nagging report that requires proper grammar.
For a while now I have known that writing is my calling. My purpose, that elusive something I was meant to do. Luck me right? People leap off buildings because they cannot quite figure out what it is they are meant to do. Alas (I love using this word, always makes me feel a bit more grand than I am)lucky I am not.
Seemingly more is needed from me than a simple realisation. Apparently greatness requires action as well. So instead of filing my tax returns for some missing years- my focus is this. This need to be the best me (puke) is getting in the way of...well being me.
I have drawn up a few questions that might help me onto a better path.
1. What is it about writing the defines me?
2. Was the last thing I wrote (we can skip this piece) any good?
3. Why are deadlines so scary and massive?
4. Why do I refuse to venture out into the unknown and read new authors instead of the tried and tested?
These questions really have no scientific way to get me writing- but listing a bunch of questions you do not always answer is the first step to self-reflection.
I am afraid I am rather blue lately. I am young enough to still have the potential to be great and therefore it is way too early to develop a drinking problem and be bitter.
See my problem?
For a while now I have known that writing is my calling. My purpose, that elusive something I was meant to do. Luck me right? People leap off buildings because they cannot quite figure out what it is they are meant to do. Alas (I love using this word, always makes me feel a bit more grand than I am)lucky I am not.
Seemingly more is needed from me than a simple realisation. Apparently greatness requires action as well. So instead of filing my tax returns for some missing years- my focus is this. This need to be the best me (puke) is getting in the way of...well being me.
I have drawn up a few questions that might help me onto a better path.
1. What is it about writing the defines me?
2. Was the last thing I wrote (we can skip this piece) any good?
3. Why are deadlines so scary and massive?
4. Why do I refuse to venture out into the unknown and read new authors instead of the tried and tested?
These questions really have no scientific way to get me writing- but listing a bunch of questions you do not always answer is the first step to self-reflection.
I am afraid I am rather blue lately. I am young enough to still have the potential to be great and therefore it is way too early to develop a drinking problem and be bitter.
See my problem?
Monday, February 21, 2011
It needs to be written
Emotive writing is what I usually claim to be good at. I suspect that is not a real term or probably means nothing. What it is supposed to tell people about me is that I write under extreme emotional pressure. Either very happy or, sad, angry and so on. Although elation usually produces sentimental crap, at least it is written down.
This will serve as my #1 excuse for never writing anything. Someone needs to make me cry to get me writing anything. Achey hearts are the best. I have written some of my best pieces because my heart was not functioning properly. It was pumping blood okay, but that is secondary to its primary function. To feel.
The #2 excuse would probably be the age-old question of inspiration. That is too complicated to get into right now. We will shelve it for later.
The point of this post (because all posts should have points, sharp ones) is not the above. Well the above acts as an introduction to why I would just randomly write. As you can probably guess I am a tad upset. I do not know if all the employees at Harpo really do feel the love of the great-O or not, but something makes me think she is the kind of employer who would want you to know how appreciated you are. I am sure she gushes about the tea all the time, so the tea lady feels nice inside.
Appreciation is a dying art. We go about our business feeling entitled to a service just because we have certain titles. However, without a group effort it would not be the same. I need to feel worth something. Not just sometimes or as part of a person’s good deed of the day. I have concluded that the point of this lack of appreciation is because I am not where I need to be. Fulfilling my purpose if you will.
Fear and a bunch of cleverly worded excuses stand in my way. But I will break them down one by one until one day I can call myself what I was destined to do.
I am sorry if this sounds like something the great-O would say. It needed to be said so that now we have our goal. A mission if you will. Time to sharpen my ninja tools and get my stealth-mode on.
Thank you for scanning this quickly. I appreciate your split attention!
This will serve as my #1 excuse for never writing anything. Someone needs to make me cry to get me writing anything. Achey hearts are the best. I have written some of my best pieces because my heart was not functioning properly. It was pumping blood okay, but that is secondary to its primary function. To feel.
The #2 excuse would probably be the age-old question of inspiration. That is too complicated to get into right now. We will shelve it for later.
The point of this post (because all posts should have points, sharp ones) is not the above. Well the above acts as an introduction to why I would just randomly write. As you can probably guess I am a tad upset. I do not know if all the employees at Harpo really do feel the love of the great-O or not, but something makes me think she is the kind of employer who would want you to know how appreciated you are. I am sure she gushes about the tea all the time, so the tea lady feels nice inside.
Appreciation is a dying art. We go about our business feeling entitled to a service just because we have certain titles. However, without a group effort it would not be the same. I need to feel worth something. Not just sometimes or as part of a person’s good deed of the day. I have concluded that the point of this lack of appreciation is because I am not where I need to be. Fulfilling my purpose if you will.
Fear and a bunch of cleverly worded excuses stand in my way. But I will break them down one by one until one day I can call myself what I was destined to do.
I am sorry if this sounds like something the great-O would say. It needed to be said so that now we have our goal. A mission if you will. Time to sharpen my ninja tools and get my stealth-mode on.
Thank you for scanning this quickly. I appreciate your split attention!
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