Every writer searches for the perfect drug to deal. You see, every writer’s sole duty is to force people to ask questions, or tickle their brains with something clever, or provide a temporary escape from real life. A temporary escape, tickling the brain: kind of like taking a drug. So in essence, a writer is a pusher. However, instead of selling smack on some filthy street corner, a writer sells ideas. Instead of dollars, a writers’ wealth is measured in praise, or on the “world live web”(the blogging world), the coveted “hit/comment-count.” Every writer has their own distinct style presented in a myriad of delightful flavors and colors: “a whole galaxy of uppers, downers, laughers, screamers”, etc. The writing styles are almost as varied as the clientele. Keep them coming back for more is every writer’s goal. I cannot think of one writer who writes solely for himself; they write to appease others. An individual who writes his or her own shit, which no-one ever sees, does a writer make? If a tree falls in the woods and no-one is around to hear it, does it make a sound? Does bear-shit laying in the forest stink if there's no one there to smell it? I can’t answer that. I can tell you this...today, my writing stinks. Then again, it could stink everyday because as we all know: a person's own filth usually doesn't smell bad to them, in many cases, it may actually smell good.
So maybe tomorrow I'll be inspired. Maybe tomorrow I'll somehow sell a brick of witty thoughts instead of a gram.
1 comment:
It probably proves your point but the Dr Doolittle books were stories told for Hugh Lofting's younger relatives (so I believe) and I'm certain there are others.
The writing can be incidental to the ideas and the impetus: the needs you describe are just a form of self-expression.
This is redolent of other debates that could be had about motivation(s).
The only way to avoid that conundrum is to never be born.
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