MussoLOLen is Always Right! |

* Writers have very fragile egos. Or rather, (since generalizing is evul) people like me who consider themselves writers have very fragile egos. I haven’t written any fiction in a little over a month and it’s depressing because my worth as a human being is defined by what I love doing: the fact that I can supposedly churn out writing. When you’re a writer who can’t even string a decent sentence together, then what the hell are you?

No, blog entries don’t really count as “writing” for me. Even though I do put a lot of thought in what I put down here, it’s so easy to write about things that already exist. My feeling depressed about not being able to write, for instance, is something that’s easy to verbalize because I am simply decribing something that’s troubling me. (I don’t think I’m doing that well enough though but give me a break, it’s almost 2 a.m.) With fiction, it’s an entirely different matter. You have to make people believe that something that exists as an idea in your head is actually a genuine human emotion or experience. And that is something that can’t be done just by simply stating the facts in a flowery manner. In other words, writing short stories is a lot more complex than just bitching and whining about what a talentless slob I am, which is pretty much the only writing I can do right now.

It’s getting so bad that I can’t bear to read anything else except stupid anecdotes from somethingawful.com. When I read somebody else’s fiction, I get plagued by thoughts about how this author is better human being than I am even though I think his/her stories are stupid and convoluted as fuck. And it makes me feel even worse. For instance, take this story by Chuck fucking Paluhniuk. This guy is the most pretentious piece of shit I’ve ever come across. All of his stuff is nothing but, “Look at me, I’m such a clever writer. My characters jabber away like 16-year old punks on meth and I know that Arabian men like to masturbate with a rod jammed up their dickhole!” Then again, do I really have the right to bitch about how much I hate this guy and his writing? He’s got a million books published. I don’t.

*sigh* Maybe I should just try to get sleep. This isn’t exactly doing wonders for my self-esteem.

* Though I gotta admit, digitally defacing his book cover made me feel much better.