“I have talent, but nobody recognizes it but me.” –said by an Anonymous failure.
I was here, at one point, years ago, although, I don’t know if I thought I had talent, or not. I was watching movies about genius writers and submitting mediocre English papers to my high school teachers. They would give me advice on how to improve, and I would promptly ignore it. Afterall, they just couldn’t understand my genius. Needless to say, I did poorly in my English classes. I watched Finding Forester, and believed myself to be like Jamal Wallace—hated for my abilities.
Anger occurred after college, when I decided to write a fantasy novel of over 200,000 words. I couldn’t understand why Stephen King was getting published, and I wasn’t. I wasn’t even getting rejection letters in the mail. Any response that I got, was an automated email. I tried every possible strategy to get my manuscripts noticed. I tried registered letters, personal emails, but nothing worked. I began to educate myself as a writer. I read Stephen King’s On Writing. I read, The Principles of Style. I read, Charles Bukowski’s On Writing, which I highly recommend. I discovered writers that spoke to me. Writers, who were angry. Bukowski, became my literary God.
This is when I really started praying. I began a blog. I began to get into esoteric philosophy, and to take the Bible literally. Would God bless me, if I didn’t sin? My friend told me about Semen Retention, and how it increases creativity. It is a spiritual practice with many benefits. Jesus said, “If a man looks at a woman with lust, he has committed adultery in his heart.” I began to shun women and eliminate sexual thoughts from my mind. This proved to be difficult, as Charles Bukowski was my guru, and I wanted to write just like him. Also, I admired Ian Fleming, along with Hemingway and Steinbeck. They all wrote about prostitutes and loose women.
The rejection letters kept coming in. After 250 days of Semen Retention, I thought I was going to explode. My best friend suggested that my writing was a sexual outlet, and my subconscious mind was working overtime—no girls who read my blog would go out with me. However, my blog became a scandal at bible study, and I became infamous. I am now known as “The Writer.” “How do you write so much?” They ask. And I tell them. Finally, I got published, after writing half a million words, and I wasn’t even paid for it. My dream of becoming a New York Times Best Selling Author was shattered. But then, I asked a fateful question, “Why am I doing this?”
I keep writing because I need to write. At the end of our lives, we will look back and define them by something. Perhaps, it’s a family, or a successful marriage. A marriage is meaningful because it’s a commitment. If we are scattered and distracted, our lives become meaningless. We have to choose to give our lives meaning. I am committed to writing. I hope to do it, on the last day of my life. Not that it will be remembered, but so that I can honestly say, “I did it.”