Random Bucket of Fish

Jealousy in Writing

I am very passionate about writing. I'm not overconfident, I'm not proud of my abilities: but nevertheless I am honored to be a part of what I love.

I am by no means entitled to give advice, but I like to give it anyway... because I feel that writing is not an area that is dependent off of skill, it is an area that is dependent on passion. If you love writing then you should write, regardless of how others think of it.

This is why, often, I feel like I become easily jealous of other writers. I see the work, I see the effort, and I see the clever tricks and gadgets, but I don't see the passion most of the tie. I hate it when I read someone's writing, and I think to myself "this looks like a lot of textbook work, the kind I would very well see on a job resume." A writer should never write to impress, a writer should write for the sake of his own enjoyment, because when a writer has fun with what he writes, so does his reader. Writing shouldn't be a chore, it should be a method of expression; one that gives you joy. It's about giving it your all; but your "all" should not come from a thesaurus, nor should your "all" come from your brain; your "all" should come from your heart and soul.

Anybody could write, anybody could imagine a story and let it all out on paper. Not anyone can get down the ridicule, the vocabulary, or any of the artsy garbage that college courses expect writers to understand. Some of the most creative people I've met have chosen to stop writing, simply because they cannot handle the pressure that the modern world of literature pushes on them.

So now, we live in a world of robotic MLA writers who express themselves through the formats of old puppeteers; gathering dust on the shelves of the local pharmacy. I am jealous of these people; they say they're writers, but they're nothing more than fools who are carrying on the tradition of murdering the hopes and dreams of those who TRULY wish to write.

I had a dream last night that I was arrested and put in a prison cell for accidentally copywriting some research on a college essay. When I got in that cell, I got some paper, I got a pencil, and I continued to write! You can kill my chances of success, you can imprison my body, but my creative conscience is something nobody can kill OR imprison!  If I die an unsuccessful writer, a victim of the cutthroat literary world, then the things I wrote will remain, and continue to inspire those who also hold creativity within themselves!