I write about unspoken subtleties. The somewhat obsolete observations. The ones in my life and yours. I try to write indiscriminately, openly and honestly. I never write something in hopes it will paint a picture of me as something that I am not. I write to try to get a better understanding of who I am. I don’t even write, something writes for me. Probably the same force that causes me to bite my tongue when there’s something I want to say so bad, that needs to be said, that I’m just not able to say for a wide variety of inexcusable reasons I’ll probably never understand. So I do this instead.
I write out of pure astonishment of how easily something that’s apparently so highly esteemed by the general public and so called intelligent people everywhere comes to me and always has, yet I complicate everything else in life that is supposed to be simple. I could write 10,000 words on a topic of your choosing but have a really hard time relating to other people. I’ve always done better with words then I have with people.
I have no interest in writing fiction because I’ve conjured up enough of it in my real life in the past to last me a lifetime. Truth is stranger than fiction anyhow, the things I’ve experienced in my not even yet 30 years on this earth are far more intriguing than anything I could make up. There is enough fiction in the world. On our bookshelves, in our perspectives of ourselves and others and our news channels. I’m only interested in facts and truth. I’m here to tell my truth, for me.
I’m better at describing people in all their horror, myself especially, than I am a garden in all of its beauty. I’m better at describing the pain that can be seen on a mothers face after losing her only son than I am describing in great detail the vibrant colors of a flower. Probably because I have more experience with the first. I’d like to write about not only personal tragedies but personal triumphs. I’d like to think that’s what I do. I’ve made it to the other side of a hurricane of bullshit and sadness that most people probably wouldn’t care to and that I certainly wouldn’t wish upon them.
I swear to God this is the only thing I’m good at that I don’t subconsciously or openly despise with a passion, that I’m capable of doing, that doesn’t completely baffle me. It might be the only thing that I’m certain I’m better than you are at. The doubt I have in and about myself about doing anything else runs as deep as the confidence I have in myself in doing this does. I’m terrible at pretending to smile for the sake of being polite to a barrage of customers who feel as though the eight dollars you make an hour somehow gives them permission to treat you like shit just because they hate their life, yet I could write a 2500 word essay on what is wrong with Corporate America that would receive no less than a “B” from just about any reasonable professor from any University of your choosing.
I don’t know how else to put it, this is the only thing I’m good at.