I started writing this blog around three years ago off the back of a friend suggesting I distract myself, instead of crying consistently for days after I broke up with an ex. Back at a time where I swapped meals for alcohol and watched totally relatable but unrealistic romantic comedies to reinforce how pathetic I really was. I didn’t have a fucking clue what I was doing or how I felt about writing for all to see, but alas I got on with it because staying in my tear stained pajamas with disgusting but delicious splats of BBQ sauce from a pizza I ate 3 days ago, was really not the way forward.
Writing is something that I have always confided in. It was safe there. I could spit out 500 words of pure shite on a page, but it was my words and my thoughts… and screw anyone for trying to scold me for my weak command of the English language, poor sentence structure and the excessive use of fruity words like ‘bollocks’. My creative writing lecturer at university suggested I change my writing style but I of course couldn’t have replied with a bigger ‘fuck you’ stare. He felt my reference to selling bacon sandwiches in a Jewish community within a poem I wrote, not funny… at all. Granted it wasn’t pivotal to the piece and it could have been substituted for something less offensive, but I’m a bit of a stubborn asshole. I dance around with this half arsed bohemian attitude (that I’ve unashamedly stole from the musical ‘Rent’) that if you truly believe in what you’re writing or saying, then you shouldn’t be edited. This opinion however gets you nowhere when you’re confronted by someone who has heaps more experience and knowledge than you, and rightly so tells you to shut the fuck up.
I’m writing this post now because in all honestly I was stuck. A writer’s block if you will. You will know from this blog that I tend to write truthfully with a large side order of ‘stop taking yourself so seriously. Prick.’… so I figured instead of coming up with something oh so witty and forcing the side of my brain I use for 'the lolz and bants' to actually work... I would just hit away at my keyboard to see what happens. You see… everyone is a writer or blogger or a commentator these days. It’s not niche, unique or revolutionary anymore to whack up a blog on the interweb and invite people to read your ramblings. Saying you want to be a writer is up there with declaring to a room full of uninterested people that you want to be a movie star. Pipe dreams that only the fittest and the strongest survive. Sometimes it demotivates the feck outta me knowing that my audience mainly consists of my mates who are programmed to love me and a few randoms in Okinawa Japan who stumbled across this by mistake.
But equally so, as much as I get royally pissed off and frustrated with the fact I haven’t ‘hit the big time’ whatever the hell that is, I also fully accept something that the American novelist and poet Charles Bukowski once said “My ambition is handicapped by laziness!” Sometimes you gotta stop being a lazy bitch and jump on it if you are to achieve just one of your dreams. It’s not a deep existential thought… it’s common bloody sense that alludes us all from time to time.
Now I’m no great writer but like everyone, I truly believe that we all have a story inside of us that should be shared. The great oral tradition should be upheld and continue long after I’m super old and cursing a hell of a lot more about my shoulda, woulda, couldas! So I guess I will continue writing whatever pops into my mash potato head, even if it entertains just that one lonely person in Detroit Michigan who searched for ‘irrational PMS’ in Google and found me!