Nothing important.
I can't write again. Not that I'm lost on what to write, I have some good ideas. I'm just not in a mood to write fiction.
Which was my problem last entry. After writing all that crap, I came up with an excellent story idea, so maybe I just need to type endlessly without meaning until all of a sudden I get that influence in me again. Don't worry, this one won't be 'creepy' or even 'crazy', although I didn't find the last entry to be so, but other people who enjoy tie-die have said differently.
One cigarette left in the pack, the rest are in the car.
I'm thinking about my chosen career. Writer. I've found that when I tell people who do not know me that I wish to write for a living, they usually assume that I mean I want to be a journalist or a professional biographer of some sort. When I tell them it's fiction writing that interests me, they look at me like I farted at them. Not that I approach strangers on the street and tell them what I want to do for a living or anything, but that seems to be everyone's general idea of the career.
Lord knows, it sort of seems like a gamble. People have compared it with wanting to be a rock star or the desire to find a career in professional napping. I've been constantly told that I should consider a back-up career, something to fall back on if people find my writing to be what Fuchs would call 'craptastic'. Of course, I can understand what they really mean when they say 'back-up career'. They mean getting a REAL job, and keep my silly desire to write as a hobby.
Well, fuck you kids. If I wanted to be a teacher, or a journalist, or an editor, I'd be going to school for that. But I'm not. I'm going to school to learn the ins and outs of fiction writing. And I don't really care if you don't consider it a 'real' job. It's what I want to do. I don't fault you for wanting to be whatever it is you wish to be, and it seems that most of you don't even know what, exactly, that IS.
But aside from that, I keep wondering where this career will take me. I do think about the future too much sometimes. I was fully aware of my own mortality when I was ten years old. Some people don't understand it until they're forty. Which is the reason why I'm such a bastard to myself, and constantly beat myself up for not having really DONE anything important in this world yet. In one hundred years, everyone I have ever known will have died. Now, if I died right this moment, after that one hundred years has passed, everything that I have done in my twenty years of life will have no significance to anyone. Which is why I want so badly to LEAVE something. Some people build a house, and know that after they have gone, that house will still stand, and will still matter. Some people fight wars, and realize that after they have gone, the results of that war, and their participation in it, will matter. Will be remembered. Many people have children, and know that after they have gone, their children will continue, and that they have mattered.
I want to write something. Something that will stand tall after I have long since passed. I want to write my name into history, and be remembered. Dante, Dumas, Orwell, Stroker, Shelly, Conrad, Steinbeck, Hemingway, Poe, Hawthorn, Kerouac, Tolkien. These names have been remembered long after the people whom owned these names passed into the darkness of time. I do not think it to be vain that I wish to place my name with these.
"Jesus, Dan. You're only nineteen."
Which means a fourth of my life has ended, and that's if I'm lucky enough to die of old age. I cannot be like everyone else and think that I have a hundred years to fuck around.
Ah, I see I'm in a writing mood again. Excellent.
Postscript- Beka, thank you for this musical station you have clued me into. It is like some sort of delicious auditory pie, filled with chocolate, cream, caramel, pure joy, and gummy bears.
Post-Postscript- Thanks to everyone for the compliments on my writing. The fact that you actually ENJOYED my whiny ranting from last week gives me much hope for the future. I enjoy it when people compliment my writing and stroke my ego. I'm not going to lie, it gives me a literary hard-on.
But really, I'm just happy that some of you can relate to this stuff.
Which was my problem last entry. After writing all that crap, I came up with an excellent story idea, so maybe I just need to type endlessly without meaning until all of a sudden I get that influence in me again. Don't worry, this one won't be 'creepy' or even 'crazy', although I didn't find the last entry to be so, but other people who enjoy tie-die have said differently.
One cigarette left in the pack, the rest are in the car.
I'm thinking about my chosen career. Writer. I've found that when I tell people who do not know me that I wish to write for a living, they usually assume that I mean I want to be a journalist or a professional biographer of some sort. When I tell them it's fiction writing that interests me, they look at me like I farted at them. Not that I approach strangers on the street and tell them what I want to do for a living or anything, but that seems to be everyone's general idea of the career.
Lord knows, it sort of seems like a gamble. People have compared it with wanting to be a rock star or the desire to find a career in professional napping. I've been constantly told that I should consider a back-up career, something to fall back on if people find my writing to be what Fuchs would call 'craptastic'. Of course, I can understand what they really mean when they say 'back-up career'. They mean getting a REAL job, and keep my silly desire to write as a hobby.
Well, fuck you kids. If I wanted to be a teacher, or a journalist, or an editor, I'd be going to school for that. But I'm not. I'm going to school to learn the ins and outs of fiction writing. And I don't really care if you don't consider it a 'real' job. It's what I want to do. I don't fault you for wanting to be whatever it is you wish to be, and it seems that most of you don't even know what, exactly, that IS.
But aside from that, I keep wondering where this career will take me. I do think about the future too much sometimes. I was fully aware of my own mortality when I was ten years old. Some people don't understand it until they're forty. Which is the reason why I'm such a bastard to myself, and constantly beat myself up for not having really DONE anything important in this world yet. In one hundred years, everyone I have ever known will have died. Now, if I died right this moment, after that one hundred years has passed, everything that I have done in my twenty years of life will have no significance to anyone. Which is why I want so badly to LEAVE something. Some people build a house, and know that after they have gone, that house will still stand, and will still matter. Some people fight wars, and realize that after they have gone, the results of that war, and their participation in it, will matter. Will be remembered. Many people have children, and know that after they have gone, their children will continue, and that they have mattered.
I want to write something. Something that will stand tall after I have long since passed. I want to write my name into history, and be remembered. Dante, Dumas, Orwell, Stroker, Shelly, Conrad, Steinbeck, Hemingway, Poe, Hawthorn, Kerouac, Tolkien. These names have been remembered long after the people whom owned these names passed into the darkness of time. I do not think it to be vain that I wish to place my name with these.
"Jesus, Dan. You're only nineteen."
Which means a fourth of my life has ended, and that's if I'm lucky enough to die of old age. I cannot be like everyone else and think that I have a hundred years to fuck around.
Ah, I see I'm in a writing mood again. Excellent.
Postscript- Beka, thank you for this musical station you have clued me into. It is like some sort of delicious auditory pie, filled with chocolate, cream, caramel, pure joy, and gummy bears.
Post-Postscript- Thanks to everyone for the compliments on my writing. The fact that you actually ENJOYED my whiny ranting from last week gives me much hope for the future. I enjoy it when people compliment my writing and stroke my ego. I'm not going to lie, it gives me a literary hard-on.
But really, I'm just happy that some of you can relate to this stuff.