Stop Writing about Writing and Write – Something. I am giving all my secrets away, free of all charges brought forth to me. I do not want to disappear into the background of my character buildings and over dramatic darkened scenes I live amongst. Pros I use professionally produce are proof of a productive pro. I find sanctuary in the sanatorium of life; I remember the memories, January to December, Hang me from the neck from the ledge of forever. I am changing my mind, at least one of them. Can you see the smoke yet? I am flinging fire from my fingertips, get it? I am not going out.
It’s getting dark in here, the gloom is instantaneously illustrious. They dump my limp discoloured body in a hellhole and thought they buried me for the greater good, now I use my illness and come-out as victor. Now I am coming for a world war because my pen is mightier than their swords; it is a fighting force you have never seen before. I am a madman with a dab hand with words. Throw me in the lion’s den, Simon says, my ocean of words are worse than any crime wave, any time of day, I write insane, while I wait to find my fate upon this page.
This is a whimsical tale, I am a magician with this pen; I can make you believe I never existed; now I am gone. My words make more sense than my own life, I don’t fit in but I do when I splodge on paper. Quit while I am ahead? Never. I am a writer, I don’t give up, I only give in. My soul is crying havoc while my body is screaming write; what else am I to do? Apologize? Never. This is the way I am and am this way until I am a deathly writer. Bring forth your fictional pointers and I shall bring my life to the page, burn after reading.
I wish I was a writer, one, someone could look up to as heightened vertigo. One, where no other writer would publish their works around my release date as their words would never make it to eye. One, where the world knew I meant business when I looked upon my computer screen. These are my battles; I have no idea when I will win at this chess game, these are my moves and I shall take all I can.
How to be a great writer? Answer; you must become great first; the words will soon follow, soon after the world will stroll behind you. Answered.
They tell me to show this world something new. There is nothing new, only reworded. I am a mental patient, finding it hard to live amongst sane people. I am an addict to drugs and words; I am still waiting for my overdose of both. So I must reach into my bag of insanity and stretch out a story more horrifying and octane based than any other out there.
What would you like to know? I am scared! Is this what you want to hear? I don’t know what life has in store for me and not knowing what my next move is, is fearsome to me.