i’ve been having trouble writing.
for anyone who is a writer or knows a writer, these words are not unfamiliar.
but with age comes wisdom or some shit and with that maybe wisdom comes definite crippling Impostor Syndrome and the ever-increasing doubt that the magic your brain and fingertips produced at some point in your life past to whatever end it may have reached — whether a sale or a private moment of reflection in brilliance — will never ever be replicated.
truth is, it won’t.
but that’s not the point of this post.
this post is a head’s up, a warning if you will.
everything you read on this blog will be shit. some of it will be shiny shit, but i can confidently guarantee most of it will not. most of it will make your face twist in agony as if you’re wrenching away from the possibility that this dogshit will stick in your memory and not in the Tommy Wiseau, hilariously bad way. in the way that grits your teeth. in the way that makes you inexplicably angry that you’ve now got this particular semblance of words branded on your grey matter.
move over, child’s-first-steps, Zin’s got some sewage to improperly dispose of.
welcome to my writing stints.
i’d started this venture with two other friends here and it, naturally, petered out due to lives and lack of time and overall forgetfulness.
i may transfer those gems here at some point or another, but they’re gonna be just as bad as the rest of this blog. what i’m doing is writing for half-hour stretches off of a prompt. these are not prompts handed to me any earlier than three or so minutes before i start. some come from Tumblr (follow me! ugly layout, innit? better yet, don’t. don’t follow me.), some from Twitter (definitely follow me!), most from my friend Courtney.
i don’t have a link for her. she’s mine. only. don’t you fucking dare . . .
so welcome to my attempts at starting something big.
(you thought i was going write ‘at stardom’, didn’t you? okay, maybe i almost did, fuck you, don’t you dare judge me.)
i will post the name of the prompt / date written / time start-time end. it’ll be cool if you want to participate with me? maybe drop me a link to your attempt? in the comments?
too much. yeah, lemme just, uh . . .
so enjoy. or don’t. whatever you decide to do, don’t fucking steal. because i will find out. and i will find you.
because as much as what precedes (follows, whatever) this message will be shit, it’s my shit. and i’m sensitive about said shit. it’s like my ugly baby. or my pet. pet poop.
don’t steal my pet poop.
okay, enough of this shit. onto the horror!