300 words

I’m going to make this short, like real short, because why would you, after five years of following this blog, re-read the same shit over and over again? How many times did I say I was on the threshold of change and it all ended up the same? I don’t even want to know the answer. But honestly, am I improving my writing skills and building on my whimsical ideas? Have I ever even written anything worth taking note of? What have I been writing all these years? And what the fuck have I been writing in the last year? I don’t know. I don’t want to know.

In the truest sense of the word: mediocrity – the first word that popped to my head. This, I presume, indicates pure self-criticism after falling prey to responsibility and blaming all the responsibilities evident, because every day they crash upon my head. What else is there, what else am I complaining about? Ah yes, my stupidity. My inability to write (but, shhh!); I need six hours to write 300 words sometimes, because I can’t get the wording, structure or grammar right. Nothing ever flows right. And one would think that after four years of creative writing classes I would at least master that, but no, I am not eloquent; I never have been and if I don’t have the solitude or capacity for books, I become even stupider than I already am and the words just escape me. I desperately need room to sort my feelings out and put them into stories – just to forget them. I told you before, writing is not my passion – it’s self-therapy. This is how I work and no one would ever understand this.

Oh and where does this lead me to – selfishness? Of course, selfishness, because the responsibilities become so heavy that my mind crushes under the weight of duty and routine. And if that happens, I don’t care about anything else but myself. (If your inner faculties cry for help, you’d do something about it, right?)

There is currently no mental stimulation; just lack of time and it’s my entire fault, because I am not looking for a way to get out of this dilemma – too much responsibility and fear of letting go of this responsibility. All I do is wait and in between there might be six hours for me to write 300 words – the only way to process emotion, filter them and remove them. 300 words against the antidepressant from 2008!  It has been working greatly! I just need the words to multiply on paper.

It’s about time to talk less to people that trigger nothing but void in my brain – a void that expands like a fucking disease…and I let them consume me almost wholly! Why? Well, what keeps me going? Once Francis told me there are eloquent people that write appalling stories, but if you have ideas for good stories, that’s all that counts.

I just remembered that my first short story was around 300 words long. It’s maybe the best short story I’ve ever written. (Read here)


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