Posted on February 16, 2017
Constantly criticizing my writing
Constantly criticizing my writing.
My desire to be clever is often outweighed by my amazing tendency to be a moron. It took a few years before I realized that I wasn’t particularly good at anything. While I consider myself perfectly average, the problem is just that. An average person never receives praise or recognition. They never get the benefit of a wonderful life. All that they could ever hope for is for a typical life, and while that may sound perfectly pleasant to some, I find that to be a dull way to live. I could work extremely hard week after week, but the only thing that would accomplish would be a tedious way to finally become above-average. Greatness is a form that works against the mundane. Some find a talent that they work on for years to improve, but all I desire is to find that one skill I could work with.
After years of consistently working on myself, I’ve found that I’m pretty lackluster. While adept with computers, I’ve never been a strong coder. I could become a manager at the fast food restaurant that I’m employed at, but managing others requires patience that I could never take the time to develop. The only skill that I can manage to work on properly is my writing, which I’ve been practicing for a few years. I could develop and write out short articles and posts to my personal blog, but I’ve never created a large following able to pay off the bills. It actually costs more to run the website that I host than any revenue that I’ve ever gotten from it. My content was always average; lost in a sea of countless others attempting to be discovered and praised online.
I don’t seek praise or recognition. All that I desire is to be understood and able to make a decent living doing what I love to do, which is writing. The physical aspect of my writing is fun, as I can create worlds of any nature. While I love to read fantasy, I’ve never been able to specifically put my thoughts into a creative format that was entertaining. When I stack my writing up to other masters of the craft, I always become discouraged and set myself up for failure. The time it takes to develop my writing is always a long and rather tedious process that never allows for structure. Working on my projects for hours on end, I find that I face the same struggles that plague others. Writers block is a serious situation, and whenever I finally discover my topic of choice, the ability to create a legitimate sense of direction and flow for my work is lost in translation.
Finding a muse is also a difficult prospect. Some find inspiration from nature or a beautiful piece of music. I could spend my days reporting the news or developing a political sense, but that would detract from my actual sense of inspiration: Fantasy. Reality is extremely overrated, and I feel that many would agree with me. The wonderful idea that stems from the worlds of magic and adventure allow the readers to escape the depressing and upsetting reality that we currently inhabit. Yes, I agree that we humans have accomplished a great deal throughout our time on Earth, but could you honestly argue that magic wouldn’t be a fascinating addition to our mundane world?
We live in a world that argues over pointless objections like religion or which political party should have control for a short bit of time. We obsess over ridiculous distractions like celebrities or what we saw on television and whenever we have the chance to actually fund scientific advancement, we choose instead to promote a militaristic society. I for one would gladly leave this planet far behind in the search for something new, which I find to be better than the alternative which focuses on fighting among ourselves for limited resources.
By now you should’ve figured out that my writing is completely sub-standard. I’m nowhere near intelligent enough to command your full attention, but if I have managed to keep you following along with my incoherent and loosely connected structures, please allow me a chance to prove my worth. While I may not be the best at convincing you of my abilities as an author, know that I was probably dropped on my head as a child. I could have easily fallen down a flight of stairs and perhaps that’s the reason why I can never seem to make proper decisions with my life. I could pin the blame on my sister or the cruel nature of gravity, but that simply wouldn’t do in this circumstance. I guess the only option I have is to keep going.