I’m thinking of changing the title of my blog to The Writer’s Life, Or Something Like It, because really, I write this for other writers, both experienced and aspiring, like myself, because I believe we truly do live our lives a little different from everyone else. At least I get that impression, from the writers I hang out with and from the other writer’s blogs I follow. It helps to know we’re not alone in our crazy.
The things I write on here are my crazy. They are stretched truths and embellished anecdotes. I don’t take myself seriously, so why am I going to take my blog, where I write all of my stream of conscious bullshit down when I need to get my head out of my book for a while, seriously? I’m not really stalking George. I am afraid to fly though, but do you really think I put on that much of a production to get on a fucking airplane? It’s a hell of a lot funnier when I paint myself as a hot mess. It’s all storytelling. I’ve just decided to share it with the fucking world because someone else out there has all the same fears I do, and they want to write, but they are too afraid to put themselves out there because they are afraid of criticism and failure. Hey, I’m afraid of failing too. Criticism, I can handle, but failure is fucking scary. Because I’m afraid of failing, I get on here roughly once a week and type out some bullshit because I’m convinced the more I write, regardless of what I write about, the better I’m going to get.
I think it’s funny when people who aren’t writers pop in here and read my stuff. They don’t get it. I know they think I’m fucking nuts, or they think my writing sucks, or they think I’m just weird, blah, blah. I’ve heard it all. Someone even wrote me a nasty little message, telling me I was creepy and disgusting because I stalked George on Instagram. Yeah, I’m not kidding. She clearly didn’t get it. I assumed – my bad – that by actually admitting I was stalking someone, well, kind of negated the truth in that, but some people believe everything they read. So, I’d probably better not tell you guys about how badly I want to have Clive Owen’s baby, because who knows what kind of shit I’m going to start with that.
You want a piece of truth? I am weird. I am fucking nuts. I’ve only been writing for a few years, so yeah, I still have a long way to go. I am okay with all of that, I like my weird. And if you think how I write here is how I’m writing my book, you’d be way off. The book, I take seriously. This? This is the pensieve where I dump the excess shit from my head.
Dumbledore: “I use the Pensieve. One simply siphons the excess thoughts from one’s mind, pours them into the basin, and examines them at one’s leisure. It becomes easier to spot patterns and links, you understand, when they are in this form.”
Harry: “You mean… that stuff’s your thoughts?”
— Albus Dumbledore to Harry in the Goblet Of Fire
If you write, you’re a writer. Plain and simple. If you publish a book, you’re an author. If you publish articles, you’re a published writer. Just because you haven’t published shit doesn’t mean you’re not a writer, it just means you haven’t published anything. It’ll happen someday, if that’s where you’re headed. Keep at it. You’re not failing if you’re writing. ❤️