The Product of Far Too Much Time (or Laziness)

I’m not much of an exhibitionist in terms of writing.

That, actually, is a lie. I am a damn show off. I suppose what I mean to say is I’m not much of one if I’m cognizant of its awfulness. This entire blog will be a testament to it. To bad writers everywhere, I tip my hat. This is my tribute to them, and a tribute to myself as an amateur writer—by definition a bad writer.

Amateur doesn’t always automatically translate into bad (well, perhaps it does), but being one means you’re one forever, which is the wonderful part of being in such a group. You’re never good, but you show “potential.” There’s no cap on your abilities. Not yet. I think that’s what terrifies me the most about mastery, other than the realization that you’re just not good. I haven’t been faced with that realization, so my guess is I’m in the “potentially good” pile.

So yes, writing in this blog could be the masturbatory exercise of an amateur, but the main goal is to get better. Unfortunately for the reader, there’s a lot more pretentious college student wordiness ahead.

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I started this post before class in the anticipation of having more time to procrastinate. This unfortunately didn’t occur as I’m trying to be more productive. Meaning, of course, that I have to actually get up and do things.

This blog kind of constitutes as “doing things,” but I’ve discovered that I’m far more likely to actually write in it if I think of it as procrastination. Though the fact that this whole mission is a means of becoming a better writer circles it back to productivity. So, I decided today that I should set forth some kind of mission statement for this perfect form of procrastination to further ease it into the area of productivity.

I’ll attempt to do some sort of writing experiment everyday—either ones I find on the internet, in my old creative writing journals, or in the current creative writing class that I’m taking this semester. Sidetracking is inevitable, so there’ll be some of that too. Like, for example, my comments on how I like to pretend I’m in a novel/that I have some random, generally useless talent (like…breakdancing. Think about that for a moment. How awesome would it be to just casually drop into a conversation, “oh, yeah, I’m a breakdance master.” Assuming that’s what you’d call yourself if you were in fact a master of the breakdance)/Sherlock Holmes. There you go, internet. Some specificity for you. Enjoy that. Eat that up.

This isn’t going to go well, is it?