A Writer's Heart

Partly because I didn't want that depressing post being my first anymore, partly because it's one of my Kind of Goals to write more (blogs, journals, essays, books, etc.), partly because I'm procrastinating, and partly because I'm just inspired, today is another day to update the blog.

Certain people have been harassing me about not updating my blog constantly, as they seem to enjoy, so I will respond to their comments in brief now:

Firstly, fuck off -- I do what I want.

Secondly, I prefer to not update my blog unless I have something fairly significant to say. I despise pointless writing almost as much as I despise complaining, and I refuse to produce it myself unless under gunpoint, which hasn't happened as of late. The next time it does, though, you can feel assured that there will be a flood of meaningless dribble cascading its way onto the Internet. Until then, I shall stand firm.

That is not to say that I necessarily dislike people who write without purpose. While it may be true that I don't quite appreciate their efforts, no one should, by any means, assume that I dislike their efforts, because any writing, no matter how inconsequential, is a subtle portal into the writer's thoughts and feelings; therefore, it holds significance.

I suppose I just contradicted myself, now didn't I?

Well, whatever -- you know what I mean, and that's really the whole purpose of writing, isn't it?

I mean, of course grammar and punctuation and spelling and creativity and eloquence are nice, and all are important in their own way, but the purpose, the real purpose of writing, is to communicate what you mean. And I just love that. So much work, so much dedication and time can be put into one piece of writing only a few sentences long all to instill within you the precise message the author is attempting to impart.

Which I suppose takes me in a circle back to why the hell do people write meaningless dribble? Not that I'm saying the people who have been harassing me are writing meaningless dribble -- they just have a lot more to say than I do, but I have seen people whose entire lives are completely based off nothing. They have no motivations behind their actions, no drives which pull them through the day, nothing. I can't comprehend how they function, really.

But I already said I was leaving that topic, and I am.

I have realized that I want to be a writer. I love language: writing, singing, speaking, poetry, books, everything (except newspapers), I love language, and I think... that it has become my passion.

I think I've realized that I don't love computers as much as I thought I did. Don't get me wrong, I still love computers, but I don't think I value the connections between circuits as much as I value the connections between people. I don't think I love math or science close to as much as I love English, and I think that I'm going to change my life plans.

I want to be an author.

I want to write books, screenplays, blogs, everything. I love writing, and I want to live off it, but I don't think I can. It's almost impossible to live as an author, because unless, by some stroke of luck, I become famous, I will have zero dollars in the bank account 23/7 (that was not a typo), and unfortunately, I want to eat and maybe even start a family someday.

I don't want to be an author because there is almost no way I can make it, and I am not, and never will be, egotistical enough to believe I can in a world full of the amazing creators we have.

But yet, it is what I need. It's what I long for.

I have a writer's heart. Creativity is my mother and structure, my father; logic, my brother and care, my sister. God placed freedom in my soul and gave me his will to create and share, and all I want is to serve him.

Yet I'm blinded by dark clouds in my future.

It's very upsetting, you see?

But I'll figure it out. I think I'll attempt to go to MSU instead of Kettering. More opportunities in my passions, you see. So unless Princeton, Stanford, or MIT accepts me, I'm set for future plans.

But now I have a question for all you thinkers and writers:

What is your heart made of? Who do you want to be? I look forward to reading responses.

And for everyone who doesn't have a blog and wants to comment, don't worry! You don't need one! Just create a google account (or use the one you already have, you tech-savvy genius) --it's easy, free, and doesn't send you shitloads of spam-- and comment away.