My writings been fierce and furious. I wake up at 4:00am, coffee automatically percolating, and the only thing guiding my way through the dark is the smell of fresh brewed covfefe. Covfefe being the only funny contribution to our existence by the idiot man leading my country at the moment… but oh, I digress. I usually sit. Write and write some more.
Coffee. Coffee. Coffee.
It’s so early, the quietest time of the day, it’s sheer perfection. I hate this apartment complex I live in – everyone moves around too much, walks, breathes, lives and just mutherfucking annoys the hell out of my existence every single day. What I hate most about Covid? That all these “neighbors” are home. All. The. Time. I hate them I tell you, hate. Don’t they know I’m trying to write a masterpiece????
Alright, alright. Clearly, I need coffee.
Coffee brewed, coffee poured, soothing to my soul. The birds are even sleeping. It’s dark as all hell outside. But I know the sun will pierce through soon enough.
I open the front door.
I was expecting a breeze of cooler air, but no! It’s still. It’s the same temperature out there as in here. Damn it. It’s so muggy. WHY?
Breathe. That’s okay, my coffee smells amazing. Focus.
Yesterday had been a bad day. I read my written work for my next book – 5 chapters – and realized how god-awful it was…is. I mean is. It’s still awful today. I cried. 5 chapters in, I thought it would be brilliant. While I wrote them, I believed I was writing the next Alchemist, the next… something. But no. Hell to the no! Hell to the NO so badly, I’m writing this instead. THIS is better than all of that, and THIS, THIS is me rambling, venting…
But this is writing. This is the creative process. Those 5 chapters really do suck. They do. They’re NOT me. They’re ME pretending to be a writer who published a book who now needs to write a second one.
I think it just hit me. Today, for the first time, I realized I’m officially a real writer. I mean, I’m already an author, but today, reading this crap that I wrote, I think made me realize that a real writer would know it’s crap and start over. And Lord help me Jeezus, this stuff sucks! I’m “throwing it out” and starting over. And yaaaassss…. Before you ask, I can’t really throw it out cuz it’s not paper, but I’m just trashing it and starting from page one.
Yeah, today, I became a real writer. It’s freaking me out a little bit.
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