With all of this reflecting came the realization that I'm able to sum all things into one simple lesson that defines my experiences as a whole:
My writing sucks.
I'm the worst writer ever.
Sounds odd, right? Well, apparently, it's the truth. You would think that, after the countless hours of classes, essays, poems, and stories, I might be able to write something that wouldn't get ripped apart by critics, journals, and even a professor or two.
But, alas, this simply isn't the case. Multitudes of assignments, and numerous rejections from common art-house literary journals later, I've come to realize that, as a sucky writer, I'm going to buckle down and take some action.
Am I going to start from scratch?
Am I going to read up on modern writers, and current literature?
Am I going to edit my essays for the fiftieth time and pray that I've written the way that the Indie Writer believes I should write, and will stop clogging my margins with the red ink of doom?
Instead, I'm going to kick my submission-attempting, professor-pleasing, good-grade-monger self out the window, and instead publish a little something on a website that WON'T reject me. This one.
And I think I have the perfect essay in mind to begin my Literary Rebellion. A little treasure I call:
My Writing Doesn't Suck
My writing doesn't suck just because Sylvia Plath isn't my role model, and I refuse to purchase books with the word "vagina" in the title.
My writing doesn't suck just because I hate poetry that doesn't rhyme.
Sorry that I don't feel it necessary to write and entire essay on how I took some Asian-inspired journey across the globe in order to find myself.
I don't need any help finding myself, thankyouverymuch.
I've been right here the whole time.
My writing isn't crappy just because I'm not a hippie. I'm pretty sure that wearing a bra, owning a Gillette, and eating vegetables that grew somewhere other than some compost pile I'm supposed to have farmed myself has ZERO effect on the quality of my work. Just throwing that out there.
Sorry I don't want to meander at some art gallery, eating soy-lentil-hors d'oeuvres, talking about all of the obscure places that I've been published, and trying to one-up everyone I talk to about how deeply I understand modernism and poetry.
JK, I'm not sorry at all. Not about that, anyway.
You want to know what I am sorry about? I'm sorry that you literary geniuses have zero sense of humor. Really, I am. A life like that must be sad. More sad than that narrative you wrote about the wind grazing over the ocean or whatever.
Really, that's how sad it is.
But it's not going to bring me down. No sir. No ma'am. You know why?
Because I don't need to stand here with a cocktail in my hand, wearing a black turtle neck sweater, to feel comfortable in my own abilities.
I don't need someone who may have studied Russian Literature in New Hampshire to validate me, or give me their seal of approval/harsh critiques, and tell me about how they would have written it,and what they would change.
Don't get me wrong, I am FAR from perfect. I'm no "Nobel-Prize in Literature" winner.
I have over 40,000 viewers averaging between 14 and 60 that have proved to me I'm worth more than a thousand red squiggly lines on the first, second, third, fourth, and fifth drafts.
Most people wouldn't even give it that many shots, you know? But I did, because I am a trooper who never gives up! Eager to please! I drafted, and drafted, and drafted, hoping that, eventually, I would amount to more than a wasted potential.
But every trooper has that point where they either become something/someone they don't have any interest in being, just to please others, OR, they split off and go their separate ways.
And that's exactly what I've decided to do.
Because I would much rather make people laugh than put them to sleep.
Because I'm me, and that's my favorite thing to be.
Because I don't SUCK.
Because that's just How It Is.