It's blinking and I can't make it stop. It demands that I push the keys, that I make words with the letters below my fingertips. But I have nothing to say. I have nothing.
Pandora plays in the background. "Hey There Delilah" rings in the background. What you do to me? You frustrate me to no end. I claim the title of writer and author but what the hell do I have to prove that?
Literally. Fucking. Nothing.
I have an 11 chapter story that makes no fucking sense. I have stories out the ass. So many that I have so much to fall back on. So many words that form together. But where is the ending? Where is the action? Where is the fucking love?
I have nothing. No motivation. No inspiration. The words don't carry. They make it a few days before the cycle ends. And then? Wait another month and see.
It's my fucking writing period, full of all the blood and pain. But don't worry. It's almost over and then once again, I have nothing. Just a bunch of words on a screen that mean something. What that something is? I'll let you know when I find out.
I'm not gonna write a fucking book because they tell me to. I don't want to seek popularity or fame. I don't give a flying fuck if a reader never knows who I am. But I need them to know a story by my hand that means shit.
I. Need. Meaning.
Fluffy clouds and flying ponies be fucked!
I'm gonna write a fucking story so catastrophic that readers will praise it for years to come. I'm going to be the next John Green. I'm not going to write another Twilight or Hunger Games. I'm going to write something that's known for it's story and not for the jokes made about it.
Where the fuck is my class?
I'm Kasey. And this is my journey to writing a goddamn novel that will rip your balls off at the base.
YOU ARE READING
Writing's Today Show
Non-FictionWriting sucks. I'm sorry but it's true. These are my rants about writing and the fixes I use to correct major problems in writing. It might be hateful. It might be rude. It might make you cry. But it's my opinion and it helps me. So, maybe it'll hel...
