[Writing]: I really wish I'd stop embarrassing myself like that
Yeah, yeah, I know I'll keep on writing stories. And yeah, some of them are going to be really, really good probably. But then I won't be able to promote them properly because I'm to awkward about it, too demanding, too shy and whatnot. And so, what could be the gems of some famous author's short story collections will be stuck with me. A complete failure with some semblance of talent. World, I don't get you at all.
I want those stories to be happy! I want them to fly, to awaken the imagination of people around, to make them see the world in a slightly different angle... But they won't. Because they're stuck with the pathetic little me.
The worst part of it is, they don't really hate me for it. They just keep coming: happy stories, sad stories, spooky stories. Of boys that locked their sadness in a glass ball and girls that wandered North with red-scarfed ice elves; of sisters venturing inside impossible cities to rescue their brothers and brothers who wished for their sisters to have good lives somewhere far away... Of pagan gods, homeless brass band musicians, ghost dancers... And I just keep on failing them.
And I know self-pity gets you nowhere. But I have to be versatile, witty, strong-minded and strong-willed all the time. Give me that moment of not-so-quiet despair. You had yours, let me have mine now and then.
(And why do the worst things people said about you always come back at such times? I hate it. Everyone hates it.)
... World? I still don't get you.
I want those stories to be happy! I want them to fly, to awaken the imagination of people around, to make them see the world in a slightly different angle... But they won't. Because they're stuck with the pathetic little me.
The worst part of it is, they don't really hate me for it. They just keep coming: happy stories, sad stories, spooky stories. Of boys that locked their sadness in a glass ball and girls that wandered North with red-scarfed ice elves; of sisters venturing inside impossible cities to rescue their brothers and brothers who wished for their sisters to have good lives somewhere far away... Of pagan gods, homeless brass band musicians, ghost dancers... And I just keep on failing them.
And I know self-pity gets you nowhere. But I have to be versatile, witty, strong-minded and strong-willed all the time. Give me that moment of not-so-quiet despair. You had yours, let me have mine now and then.
(And why do the worst things people said about you always come back at such times? I hate it. Everyone hates it.)
... World? I still don't get you.