[Written on Tuesday, March 13, 2012, on the back porch at ... 3-4 pm? On a small notepad.]
[1) This brackets are me writing on the computer as I type this post. I think I'll write anything I might post in my notepad first and than post them here, so anything without brackets is past, real time, on ink stuff.]
[2) o/ Heyo! Welcome to my blog. For now, I'm just going to use this as a place to dump any of my attempts at writing and streams of consciousness. A live journal I think? Except without the fame or excitement! Anyways, I don't except anyone to read this yet so *shrug*. If you do, *shakes hand* thank you. Have a cake *hands cake*]
[3) This is just self conversation jumble so I prolly don't think it'll be entertaining for you to read this stuff, just need to place my foot in the door of blogging somehow...even if it's crap.]
My name is &&%& %^%^%^$#%#^%[CENSORSHIP! Just call me Kinz for now.]. And... I wish to be a writer. Well, that's not exactly true. Rather I wish to write and be acknowledged.
Maybe not even that.
I've always had idea's in my head. Stories and fantasies of fantastical things. [Who hasn't?] Half would be crossovers and twistings of already established ideas. When I was young, and even now, I would jump around my room, pretending I was someone else or somewhere else, usually in my favourite series at the time.
I always imagined I would be someone great, fantastical. The one who stood up to bullies, or the one who gave inspiring speeches or the awesome fighter. Even though I am the opposite in reality. [pity -_-, don't mind me]
I think I've always dreamed of being creatove or making great art; be it drawing, music, spoken, or acted. But why? I've always been energetic, and I've always just wanted to share my ideas. Maybe that's human nature, to bring out our imagination, so vast and unreal. Our dreams. I wonder if people dream such random, crazy things like me. Probably, I hope so anyways. [I think so too, just look at the internet!]
I cannot draw, although I think I can be good at playing an instrument if I truly tried, although I have no passion for it now. Evidence by my many dropped piano and guitar lessons. I did enjoy the clarinet but I think that was more of the schoole [middle school] environment, acceptance.
Am I stalling? No, I don't think I am.
Writing is writing no matter what. I find it funny that I used to long so much for friends, but now I prefer my own company. Did I ever truly want friends or was it merely my jealousy of others and my envy of society, my mind a slave it's messages. How young I was, am. Am I happy now? Relatively. I'm satisfied, but I want more. I must find it...
Perhaps, I have already?
My desire to write... how long have I had it? Truly? I think I've wanted to write, or think I could write, since the beginning of my high school career, when my english grades grew from c's to A's. I think that was because my depression lifted, no more bullying. High school focused on expression, not memorizing grammar and words. A mix of freedom and new confidence.
I don't think writing was ever my calling. Nothing was, has, so far. Rather I am a jack of all trades, good at what I set my mind to, above average but not special. Is that prideful to say? Probably. Is it true? Maybe
Yet why do I cling to writing, the idea of it? Because it was the only way I thought possible of expressing myself. Of bringing my dreams to reality in a good way instead of garbage. I've never acted on it though, fear of failure, not until recently. I read a story a couple months back, a fanfiction from the MLP community, one of their epics. Fallout Equestria. It was some of the best reading I've seen in a while. Then I looked and saw how it had inspired others, so many, to write their own fiction, based in this world created for them. A fanfiction inspiring fanfiction, now that is something.
On the surface, I thought if they could do it, so could I, I could write. On the lower ego, underneath, I thought that I had found a new way of being accepted, possibly showing off. This is because of my recent stardom in english class. 90's with a teacher who said I was a good writer, had potential. I still wonder now if it was really because I was one of her many favourites, as rumours go in the school.
I think alittle of both. I'm good, but nothing special, hardly. I could be, like anyone else, if I practised though... for years maybe.
Outlast the luck and the lazy. [as one blog of a notable writer said]
I tried writing. It wasn't horrible. Rather it had the same flaw I've noticed I've been getting alot for a while now. It was too wordy. Given, it was the first draft, but I was too high on excitement, dreams and pride, to be a good judge of it myself, to push myself to edit.
Now that my innocence of my writing ability is somewhat shattered, at least the first step of rejection, I find myself at a cross roads.
Who do I write? Is it worth the pain and failure I hear so much about?
I wish to write because I believe I have ideas in my head. I wish to bring them out. I simply have too much excitement when I'm "living" them that I have to finally bring them our one day or I'll go mad. I think that's partly why I started online roleplay... And why I find it disappointing, because I have to constrain my ideas to be fair with others.
Second, I write because I wish to inspire those same emotions of sadness, attachment, depth, revelation, happiness, I get from any good story of any media. I want to inspire and bring to life fantastical [I'm using that word too much...] thoughts in others like what happens to me. So giddy after a good story, fantasies and fanfiction acted out in private like a five year old playing pretend.
Thirdly, the reason which scares me, I wish to write because I want to be accepted, admired, have someone write an indepth review, tell me how beautiful my story was. But I hear that is a bad reason, to be popular. This is a strong reason for me though. Yet a writer is because they love to write onto itself, for themselves first and foremost. Is that truly a bad reason or am I merely focusing on it too much out of shame?
It's a basic human desire. We all want to be loved. To be accepted. It fundamentally underlies, or heavily influences, alot of our desires, choices, habits, appearance, preferences. I don't think it's a bad reason. Let me look it up... [*Goes on iphone in real world*]
No I'm not bad. Two of my reasons are classic creatives. And writers well being hinges on others opinion. We [they] write so others can see, of course we care about opinion. I can write, I know I can. I am off on a better start than most. I have lots of free time, good grades, no pressing chores or jobs yet.
Alright... let's do this. I can do this. I know I can. I can taste it, see it, visualize. Others can, so can I.
It will be hard, It will take a long, long time, but what else do I have to do? Sit in front of a comp and play other people's dreams?
Tenacity is the foundation, above talent and luck.
Outlast the lucky, outwork the lazy. I can make my ideas, my dreams, a reality. Like an mmo, I can grind through this. There is an end game, reachable.
I'm young, my brain is still wiring, I can build habits.
My name is &^&* &%&^%&%&%&%[I ain't giving my name x_x], and from this day forth, I am committing myself to the path of a writer. [Hobby wise at least...]
Dream: Become a recognized writer, net or published.
Long term goal #1: Write one story and edit it to a decent state.
Short term goal #1: Write at least 2000 words a day.
It will be hard, but it will be worthwhile.
Anything worthwhile is hard.
[To myself] Please... please... please
Don't give up <3.
[This is probably not good for a first post... ]
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