So like I said, the story I wrote the other day is like nothing I’ve ever written before. But I’m revising it anyway. This is kind of like my ‘test’ I guess. I know I can blog like a fiend, but in all honesty, I’ve never written anything that’s publishable, and I’m beginning to wonder if I’m one of those people who wants to write, but will never be able to actually do it.
This is a test. I don’t like the story because it’s depressing, but I like the story in the sense that if it were well written, it would be completely awesome. I know it’s not well written right now. It’s more of a synopsis or outline than an actual story, and I’m okay with that. For now.
The trick is to see if I have what it takes to make it as good as I see it in my head, because in my head, it’s a story that is beautiful and haunting, even if it is morbid and depressing as hell. It has that much potential, I just don’t know if I have that much talent.
In a way, I’m excited to be revising it and trying to make it live up to my vision. I’m tired of being a dreamer. I think it’s time to put all I have into this and see if there’s any real talent in here. If there is, great. I’ll continue to hone my craft. If it turns out that I just don’t have what it takes, then I’ll continue to write as a hobby [or when I get depressed] and I’ll continue to blog, but I won’t have this invisible pressure on me to become published.
Can I really figure this out with just one story? I dunno. I guess I’ll have to send the thing off to whatever short story markets there are out there and see what other people think. I’m not giving up if it doesn’t get published, but what I want to know from this is, do I have any freaking potential? Is there any talent for words that can really be developed, or am I like the piano teacher in Amadeus, who dreams of being a master, but will never have what it takes to achieve that goal?
My kids want candy. So I have to go.
This article brought tears to my eyes. Perhaps it will inspire someone else, as well. There is a chance that at some point, the article will be taken from the news site that presented it, so some details are shared below. Maybe Google can help.
The article is about Harry Bernstein, who was 96 the first time he was published. He wrote a memoir about his childhood, living in poverty and right across the street from Christians who were just as poor as his family [he is Jewish]. And yet the two lived in separate worlds, divided by one street and a chasm of hatred.
How is it that we so often fail to see our similarities and can only see our differences? And how is it that we can find it in ourselves to hate someone just because they’re different? If you were exactly the same as me, then one of us would be pointless, yes?
We should embrace and celebrate our differences because each one of us is a beautiful, if unique, facet of who God is. It is my belief that if we could all see the similarities between the different races and religions, creeds and abilities, we would all truly become One, and our differences would become mostly irrelevant [we might continue to use those traits as a form of description, but the judgment would be gone].
There is a way to do this. The world is continuing to grow and evolve, as is the human race. We have the resources and ability to make things better in the world, to bring peace. The choice is Yours.
When I was about ten or so, I had a strange dream. In it, I was an adult, and I had a big flap of skin that hung off of, you guessed it, my ass.
It was so big and long that it drug on the ground, much like a wedding dress skirt or train. As I walked around in the back yard, little kids would jump on for a ride, and at one point I was dragging about ten kids around the yard, all of whom were sitting on my ass.
So now when I’m tired, my natural thought is to use an old phrase my parents used, “My ass is draggin!” Which always makes me think of the Dream of the Dragging Ass.
Now, aren’t you glad you stopped by for that?