Why do I Write?

Of all the things I could have chosen, why writing? There is no real job security in the world of abstraction. My five words of beauty, are worthless when it comes to paying the bills. Even if I do get someone to pay for my work, how much will it be? Can i survive off of the nickles and cents that come my way? My father recently told me to pursue a real job before going after my english major. Of course I fired back saying how can one expect anything giving their passion a half assed effort. You either give it everything you have or go home.

Does his advice even have any real value? Here he is looming on half a century and his hob is far from secure. He is not happy doing what he does. I can take as just a sign of the times, but it seems to be indicative of so much more. Maybe it is a little bit self indulgent in saying i want to pursue a life of accomplishment and happiness. But if anything what is the alternative? How many jobs out there pay the bills and give a life of leisure. few if any.

Do I have to attend school to become a great published writer? Maybe not, but what do i know. I am just in the infancy of my writing development. the only real literature that I have read is through school. The occasional work here and there like Brave New World was read on my own time. I am not well read compared to many of my piers. But writing is something that i have loved doing. Of course love does not mean success. Even talent does not equate to success. It is fiction that has had my heart from the beginning. Ever since middle school I jumped at the chance to be creative. Teachers would most always select mine as a standout piece. Of course that does not mean much, but nonetheless this is something that I thoroughly love doing. This is before the notion of even getting payed to do so entered my mind. There are a million other things i would have wanted to do, that is before I started going to OCC. English was the only real challenge, and i made it through with A’s. In english 101 i was given the chance again to write a fictional piece and i surprised myself. It is far from done, i gave it a bullshit ending just so that i would have something to turn in. But the craft that I found instinctually, and sparked the inclination that i could write competent pieces of fiction. After that i took an introductory creative writing class. Ever since i have been determined in getting an English major. beforehand i was undecided.

I want to attack this major with everything i have. I want to create the literature i wish to see. Hopefully others will learn to appreciate the lenses which i look through.


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I am not exactly sure why I started this blog. It just felt like the right thing to do.

Anyways, the recent tremors have left more jarred than usual. There is nothing original about the California Earthquake, or wildfires. But this recent sequence of shakers have been far more violent. I could here the earthquake approaching. I hate to use cliques but it rumbled in the same way a wave comes crashing down. It had that same guttural low frequency rumble that kicks you in the chest. Before the house began to rock back and forth I could hear the birds shrieking madly. They flapped their wings in their cage. Even their small brains could comprehend this quake was going to be a bitch. I have never heard an earthquake coming, but somehow I just knew what it was I was hearing. As the quake reached my house the windows shook, the house rocked, and my brain just switched through all the static noise that related to what was happening.

Should I go to the doorway?

No, only dumbasses do that and end up losing fingers as the door slams shut.

Should I go outside?

No, I’ll probably be whacked by the bricks on the outside of the house.

Should I sit here?

Really brain? thats it?

The couch seemed like the best place to sit this quake out. And so I sat. The house stopped shaking. The light was still on, and so I put on the news. Breaking NEWS, did you feel that? That was an earthquake. Realizing the stupidity of it all i couldn’t bare changing it right away. And ultimately why the fuck do they have regular people describing it to me? it was the same earthquake. Unless somehow they got a different type of wave, they felt the same thing. After they stopped giving any relevant info , like the magnitude (which was the only relevant info they had) i changed it. But really? Do we really have to hear how someone’s china fell to the floor? How some retard didn’t earthquake proof his bookshelf. Really? I guess we have become so desensitized that we want to hear someone else say the same thing. This was straight out of Dellilo’s book White Noise.

I can’t wait for the big one. I don’t have an earthquake kit ready, and I bet you don’t either. It will rip our homes a new asshole. I have never been paranoid about earthquakes before but lately I’ve been a little on the edge. There is nothing we can do to stop it. I hope you keep your ass nice and clean California, because we’re gonna be kissing it goodbye real soon.

se habla ingles,

The illiterate Mexican

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