Early Morning Madness!

This is Early Morning Madness, a se bog post series on when I get up early, and discuss things n my mind. Granted, I coud lie and not do tis at the time I state, but ou can almost feel the difference in ow I approach most of thse posts, which a far greater rested mind. Enjoy! It is early in the morning, six-thirty in the morning to be precise. I have not written this early in quite some time. Sure, I’ve stayed up writing well past six-thirty, we all have one of those days where you get on a roll, and you don’t stop until you’ve reached either your goal, or the inspiration has run out. Monday Blogs is something I’ve “contributed” to consistently in the sense of actually writing blog posts and using the hashtag #MondayBlogs so many more people could see my blog. Call it shameless self-promotion, or call it biding an opportunity to launch outward, gathering a new audience with as little personal loss as possible, but I’ve decided to continue writing, and using the Monday Blog posts as an excuse to always write. Recently, I’ve come to question myself, and what I think is best for me to obtain better lifestyle than the one I currently have, and truthfully, I’ve not found an answer that best fits both my love of writing, and my admiration of doing very limited human interaction, along with a disdain for handling monies. I’ve come to the conclusion that actually finding a job isn’t necessarily what’s right for me either, perhaps I’d be better ff honing my writing skills, which, no matter how much I adore them concurrently with my equal ability to speak well to crowds, and my abhorrently gifted imagination; I can always improve. Anyone who has ever claimed to have learned enough, or done enough in their craft to be an expert is lying to themselves, and their audience. Even the messiah of all fiction writers, Stephen King, never stops improving upon his craft. When it cmes to the theory of writing, he has measured himself in leaps and bounds beyond his competition, because all he ever does is read, and write, a machine of pumping out great literature, that wil never be labeled literature. Stephen King will be measured by the sands of time, the granuals of his life will be microscopically analyzed until he becomes reduandntly studied, and the words he once typed will be misinterpereted, bastardized by all who ever have sat down to simply enjoy the work for what it once was, no oblitereated by snobs. I find that we live in the best f times, when his work is still considered to be mainstream, best-sellers rubbish, rather than the absolute maginficienct contribution to the English language. I may paint up Mr. King as something of the gold standard, but even I am not in total awe of his writing style, but I do’t have to, because it is the appreciation of his language command; and delivery, which earns my respect as a reader,well-over as a writer. So do we ever actually see a fortuitous epic finale b such writers? Absolutely not, for all intent-and-purpse, we will most likely never hear the end of great writers like Stephen King, who, either loved, or hated, has kept the sales of novels alive in an age where reading is secondary to all other media. I’m not surprised to see most writers intimidated by the marketlace. They always try to strategize their ability to tell a good story, over-top a grand command of diction, which can come off as a snub to those who use colloquial language to perfection, rather than pandering to uppercrust readership. It’s terrifying to bank on the laymen, but are they not the most common, andbrutally honest of the bunch? Hearing “this sucks” is far more telling,a nd far more honest a criticism than hearing a one-hundred-page thesis on the faults withn your eighty-thousand word novel. Sometimes the honest of the common reader outweights the shifty, overzealous snob remarks of the highest percentile. With all that, and much more, it’s difficult to sa that learning to master the art of writing isn’t without its most terrifying appeals. I personally have always been keen on writing as a pleasure, rather than as a vocation. Everything is money-oriented. People who can artistically convey a message through paint, or any medium at that, are always told they must monetize their craft, and guess what happens, they stop that craft, and lose the innovation. Writing for the very few is about monetization of their art, it’s soely because they truly admire the craft, have a deep soul as to the conveyance of most literature, and that in-turn pressures them only to writer for themselves, rather than the added pressure of writing for the world to become rich. Money is the placated stance we all take on why we drive ourselves to bald prematurely, and over-drink on the weekends. Writing is not my money-maker, I’ve made money writing, but that doesn’t mean I want make money writing. Yes, I’ve stated I’ve always wanted to be a serious writer, one that was respected for the craft, and also maybe make a living. Honestly, writing was always a hobby, and more-correctly defined as my avocation. I never once wanted to be a professional writer, but I always wanted to be published, to prove I was worthy of being published. Emphasis on the word worthy, because I truly believe one must be worthy of writing, it’s not something learned, it’s not anything more than a talent that comes from the heart. When you feel, you write well, and when you’re feelings are able to extend past yourself, that is when you become not just a writer, but a storyteller. It is art to write, business to publish, and mixing the two together is like a peanut-butter and jelly sandwich that someone had the audacity to pour thumbtacks on as a sick prank. It is a terrifying venture to go down, and it was the first time I ever felt something, anything, in so long, when I was given the opportunity to have my work read, and criticized. The most tragic feeling on Earth is to not be critiqued. Not because I need the approval of others to know my work is as legitimate to writing as it is to myself, but because it gives you a sense of accomplishment that someone else other than you has enjoyed your work. Granted, there are plenty of things iv’e written that I’ve also absolutely hated. It’s natural to dislike some of garish behavior of your children, let’s not pretend as writers that we don’t (assuming you are a writer, of course!) have certain pet peeves of our work that does everything but drive us up a wall. I hope not to make it sound like we need consuling to be decent writers, but we do need to take criticism haphazardously, and without personal attack, so we can better our craft. Even masters muck up ther own potential at times, because when you’re so good at something for so long, few people are willing to give ou critique, and let such mistakes slip through the cracks. I again harken back to Stephen King on this matter, because he has made some duds in his time, and he has accepted tose tarnished wrks o his resume. Sure, art is subjective, bt I tend to believe we can criticize as a whole the faults of bad timing, wretched storytelling, and a misplaced plot. Despite the under-critcizing readership, one must always self-critique, but learn to do-so knowing that they must have something, it may not be Stephen King quality, or even something classical like Raymond Chandler, but they have SOMETHING that makes them stand out above the others in the writing community. It’s not so much learning to be better, but to harnessing what you’re better at, thus making you a better writer in return. Meet with other trust-worthy, ample writers, some who are equal to your prowess in enthusiasm and skill, and many far above, exceeding you, but willing to help mold you into a higher standard, henceforth; you’re never overshadowed, but also learning humility in being outshined.