I want to write , i love writing. i belive it stems from my mad obsession with reading, at the age of just 12 my parents had to tell me to put down my reading habits and my judy blume books, to concentrate on my upcoming exams.
then i came to tell myself that my need to write, may come from my ambitions to be famous and have the world know my damn name. soon i realized that not only did i not care about becoming famous, writers aren’t generally not all that famous, they arent celebs or nothing, i mean can you picture “hunter s. thompson” or even “danielle steel” or “robert lumdum”? i guess not.
But i still wanted to write, for as long as i can care to travel into my past i have always wanted to fucking write.
So i told myself that i just own an incessant need to write. there i at least knew what i wanted . i should be happy ,yes , no?
LO! fucking behold for how can you write, when you yourself spite the way you fucking write. you despise your very own style.
since the age of 11, i have commenced writing 3 novels , one memoir all fictional works that never saw themselves past chapter number 4. recently i completed a coming of age+modern memoir+travel book+india+gonzo journalism of around 150 pages ! but i fucking hate and despise it! never finished the earlier ones because i would read the start after reaching chapter 4 and then just throw it somewhere , this one got completed because i did not read what i had written!
hate my total lack of a fucking flow,inability to hold a topic. reader will always understand what it is i am trying to convey to the him/her but the consistent leaping of my flow of thought and mood just makes me want to throw up all over my very own writing!
a writer is able to separate his mood from his writing , my mood rides my writing like it’s the sexy bitch akon sang about!
how do i write when i detest what it is i write. failure ! yet again! first book i ever completed and i hate it ! its GIBBERISH is what it is. it reads like a person on acid wrote it! i only wrote like two pages on acid! no adherence to a time line or a flow of thought ! the damn FUCKING FLOW of my writing is as smooth as a river in Somalia! (they don’t ave any!)
how do you write when your life consumes your words, how do you try to write when “she” always manages to creep into your words! she is always there , doesn’t matter what im trying to write ! she crawls into it , and im more than happy to oblige! oh look there, she did it YET AGAIN!
don’t even get me started on the number of english language laws that openly sodomise ! why would anyone who is sane ever put themselves through my inane fucking ramblings strung together with misplaced punctuation marks! why should you read jabber and babel that i hate myself!
it sucks to be my greatest fucking critic! can’t blame the world , can’t blame you ! not my parents or even “her” for before you could even see my work , before u could even read it , i would have crapped all over it! reach right into my mind and heart and then i slap them so hard they just tend to forget their own dreams , i am truly my own UNDERTAKER.