Writing About Myself As A Writer

I am a writer. I type and I make letters into words. Then I make those words into paragraphs which leads to a story. If it flows, I am not concerned. It is my reader that must deal with the consequences of my click-clacking keyboard. I am here to tell you a story and if you follow, then you are a genius. No offense to myself, but with a mind that moves miles a minute, flowing is not an easy requirement to meet in my writing.

I do consider myself such a writer that has her tone set, however. If I were to write novels, one would be able to tell that this author is one sarcastic bitch. She doesn’t like much in the world and in other words, there is much more evil to write about than good. For instance, or then again, should I even mention it? Government policies? Do people really want to read my rant? Maybe Rush Limbaugh or Pat Robertson would like to so they could find the “so many errors” in my Democratic stand.

I hope or in another mentality, I know I will become famous for my writing techniques. No, I’m not original or a pioneer of literary methods. I am a blunt little girl. I don’t want to write a book about him or anyone else, it or anything. I want to explain the truth in a magazine or newspaper for all the locals to read, to respond to, and tell me just how wrong my opinion is on the subject matter.

If not opinion-writing, then I shall seek to report the deadly and the strange, the great and unacceptable performances, and the grand opening of the new lounge on Main Street. Times will be rough and I’ll be there to report, describe, illustrate, put into English, perhaps laymen’s terms for those who surround his or herself in the pages of the New York Times or Time magazine.

Off the topic but what is necessary to write, I found English 162 taught by John Goldfine just pure gold and fine. I’ve learned adjectives aren’t the most important element to writing, same for description. I don’t need to utilize them as much as I previously thought to be genuine with my reader. I should depend on my reader to relate with my small excerpts of non-fiction experiences within my own life.

In the end, however, I have lost what muse used to float around my head as I wrote for I am naturally an abstract writer. Whatever comes to mind gets impressed on this simulation of paper. Although, I know now not to “try so hard”, I still have trouble seeing as that green fairy of ideas fails to appear.

Time is grand, and within it I shall perfect the art of the written word. This I know.