Writers. A dying breed. The few and far between. The book worms. The losers. Think of the coolest kid in your high school. Was he a big writer? Did he go on to college on a writing scholarship and study writing and go on to be a successful writer? The answer is, maybe. But in my experience, writing has been a crapshoot. A whoopsy daisy, a no-thank-you-ma'am. But why?
Shouldn't writing be cool? The answer to THAT one? No, probably not. But what are we supposed to DO, my writers? I actually did go to school for writing, like that hunky example from the first paragraph. Do you know what I do now? Sit on my ass and take it hard just like everyone else who went to school for a stupid degree.
The thing is, writing should get you laid. It's cerebral. It displays a certain level of intelligence. It can be sensual, it can be daring, it can be exciting, and it can be incredibly sad. Perhaps that plays to the (honestly I think, more enlightened) generation of the 2020 school-aged twerps, but back in my early 2000's days if you were into writing you were basically holding up a sign that said "my private parts are for me and me alone."
If you want to write for a living, get dreaming. Sure, you can go to school to be a technical writer and be the voice that tells millions how to set up their Roomba upon purchase, but that's not really the point. I bet Johnny McHotbody from paragraph #1 has a better chance at getting drafted to the NFL than Angry Mike had at being the next Stephen King. The jobs just aren't there, and as a former professor of mine told me, don't be a professor.
So this is what we do, writers. We make blogs. We delete them and start them over again. We write short stories and marvel at the worlds we create. Share them with anyone who cares, but don't be shocked when your rising action doesn't load up your mailbox full of panties.
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