I used to love to write. I fancied myself the author of a book one day. Just one book, though - I figured I could rake in the dough with just the one fabulously engrossing and wildly acclaimed book. I’d retire on the money I made by the age of 18 - no need for college (something I was against since the time I found out about it “What?! You told me I could drop out when I was 16, then you told me you’d kick me out if I did but that I could quit school after high school! Now you say that’s not enough! Do you want me to waste my life in school?” (door slams)).
Then I didn’t turn out to be as good a writer as I imagined myself. I had it all together in my head, but it took so long to write it, by the time I got to the end of a sentence, half the words were missing. Like that last sentence would have been, “I had it all together in my half the words were missing.” Or I would write myself into a corner and have to go back and redo everything only to realize it wouldn’t work anyway I came at it and then I’d have to scrap the whole thing and come up with a different idea. The second idea was never as good as the first (all my first ideas are brilliant).
I would write these dark short stories that brought me to tears. So heartfelt, so insightful, so utterly, utterly deep. (pause for somber effect). Then I would reread them and they would bring me to tears again - of embarrassment at the sappiness of it all - more like utterly, utterly silly.
In school, they always had a very precise formula to write by - topic sentence, concrete detail, commentary, commentary, concrete detail, commentary, commentary. Repeat five times and you had an essay. If you did not follow the formula, you got marked off for it which burned me up no end. Where was the option to write creatively? Why in the name of all that anyone holds sacred did I have to follow this BEYOND boring method and then hold HEMINGWAY up as a fine ideal? (How was I supposed to know what “Hills Like White Elephants” was really about? How could anyone know what that was really about? This is supposed to be GOOD writing?!) I used to rebel by refusing to reach the minimum word requirement. HAHA, that’ll show them!
Now adays I just write what comes to mind. I think they call it verbal diahrea but here I just call it wordiness cuz I don’t know how to spell diahrea. And, really, I don’t want to know how to spell it.
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