Ravishing the digital landscape with an unfortunate ratio of one to every five blogs written, the tedious number of narcissistic writers pissing up the walls of WordPress has reached an unsightly high, and dare I say it, it’s time to take a stand. Self-obsessed with their own achievements and follower counts and blogger awards (an award for blogging, it’s a real thing) an impervious need to shower the world with their so-called advice like an act of Goddamn religion. Commonly found under the topics of being defined as a writer, what constitutes to being a writer, and what makes their writing worthwhile.
They’ll label themselves as “expert writers” spreading misnomers like a fucking plague, and in some instances stating that a real writer writes books not blogs. Real writer, okay, whatever the fuck that means. A sub-category of self-centered elitist cumlickers who’ve taken it upon themselves to bless the upcoming writers and wannabe novelists with their experiences, thoughts, and ideologies on the subject matter. And let’s not forget the drug-induced spiritual journeys of self-discovery and “finding themselves” on what makes them so fucking qualified to cleanse the world with their bullshit.
What makes a writer a writer? I’m no expert – queue the sarcasm, but I strongly believe it’s written in the words: the act of writing will dictate whether or not you’re or a writer. It has nothing to do with backpacking through Rome, seeking inspiration by the way of false Deities and diluted reefer. While the idea of an artistic expressionist journey of bullshit and time wasting may seem like a good idea in practice – because all the great writers of the past have done so, apparently, I disagree.
Writing isn’t predicated on some teenage girl’s rape fantasy with mythical creatures, nor is it the end result of a broke Bukowski’s journey through the urban Inferno of a poisoned liver and hookers with ambition. A mouth of madness where idolisation dictates lifestyle. A true fucking misery of desperation hidden amongst the mist if I ever did see it. As with everything else in life, whether or not you’re cut out to be a writer depends on how bad you want it and how dedicated you are to the act itself. But there is a psychological aspect to it.
It’s not a craft – it can’t necessarily be taught. It’s not like changing a plug or fixing a car. It’s psychological, like art. Do you feel a million fucking thoughts running riots through your mind and the only way to dismantle the crowd is to lay them down on the page to introduce a system of law and order? Does the physical feeling of unloading your mental cum induce an orgasmic high of relief as your words spill onto the page without guilt nor shame? Does the page call you in the middle of the night, craving your touch, begging for attention, even if it’s just five minutes of wordplay?
If the answer’s yes then maybe you’re a writer. The real question is whether or not you can be talked of it because some may not agree with your words. If the answer’s yes, then I think it’s safe to say you’re not a writer. Sorry, darling. I mean, I’m no expert – sarcasm intended – but if you can just as easily spill ink on the page as you can wipe it away, then you’ve got no business picking up the pen in the first place. Everybody’s a critic. If you’re own worst critic is the one inside your head, then I feel there’s no need to question it. Questioning everything as you see an ulterior motive lurking behind each and every word you read is one aspect to being a writer. And yes, you should be reading. Fuelled by self-doubt and caffeine, reading and self-judgment comes with the territory.
With that being said, I feel there’s something incredibly important that must be mentioned as the times have and will always continue to change. If coffee puns and top-down pictures of MacBooks are the least bit appealing to you, and the subject of anxiety, mental health and depressed millennials serve as interesting topics of written discussion, then by all means, let the cliché be your guide to modern day blogging. Emphasise the level of sarcasm here as you start to question the concept of “Importance”.
As much as I can’t teach you how to be a writer, nobody can teach me how to be a writer. But if there’s anything I can teach you it’s this; anybody who claims they can teach you how to be a writer is a fucking liar and should be ass-raped with a pitchfork. Commissioned to jump up and down like a Pogo stick while being forced into sexual arousal from cheap pornography under the category of Step-Family Adventures. I’m disgusted with myself. I can live with that.
Original Copyright © 2017 by KalifornicationX.